


Triage

by cincoflex



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn, Threesome - F/M/M, fooooood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-06-01 00:53:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 43,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15131492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cincoflex/pseuds/cincoflex
Summary: Greg and Nick find the perfect balance in a triangle. (AU to the AUFilly) if that makes sense.





	1. Chapter 1

Triage

_Some forces don’t begin to reveal themselves until others shift, and the paradigm is upset. The status quo is actually an ongoing series of tiny changes, an active situation that those on the surface take for granted because they don’t note the process. Under it all though, the inevitable motion of greater events build and break until it’s too late to do more than meet them head-on, or run._

***

Greg wasn’t sure when he first began to notice Nick. It was before the kidnapping; he was definite of that. Even in a workplace crowded with people easy on the eyes, Nick stood out, that was for sure. Not that he seemed to be aware of it, himself. For all his fine lines and balance, Nicholas Andrew Stokes was remarkably unegotistical about his own good looks. He had his moments of ego and humor, the same as anyone else who spent days diving into dumpsters or climbing into attics; facing down guns and processing broken bodies.

Still, Greg could see that for all Nick’s openness, there was always a guarded little edge to him. And that was even before his horrific days at the hands of Walter and Kelly Gordon. It hurt to see Nick forcing himself to make an effort at healing, and Greg wished he could do more to help.

Then his _own_ nightmare with Demetrius James and his family happened, and Greg found himself feeling much more than just empathetic with Nick. Greg had always thought he’d be able to handle the rougher side of life, but the slow recovery from his beating, and the further abuse in the courts hadn’t helped much.

Sara had been taken and returned, and left them, but that was okay. She called regularly, and Greg was glad she did. He’d wanted to blame Grissom, but one look at the older man’s quiet anguish stopped that urge dead cold. The old mantra returned: Shit happens, and Greg was man enough to see that Grissom had gotten his own fair share lately. No point in adding to the pain, for either of them.

Still, life went on. Warrick was the latest victim of rough times, and Greg wished the cycle would stop for a while. Yes, nobody was immune from the edge, but it would be nice for some upswing—people deserved it, damn it. Easy cases, with quick convictions. Peace. Quiet. 

Maybe even something more . . . 

*** *** *** 

His therapist had warned him that there would be flashbacks. Rough days. Lows. He understood it in theory, but that didn’t help a damn when the smell of dirt had him quivering in his boots, literally. Nick was sure nobody noticed it, but damn it, _he_ felt the panic racing around under his skin like heat prickles.

He should be OVER this. God, shivering like a little kid when there was nothing to be afraid of. It was just dirt, and nothing more. Soil, ground, earth . . . dirt. The stuff plants grew in, and mud was made of. Nothing . . . scary.

Easier said than believed. Smell did it. Not the sight, or the feel of the damned stuff, but the stink of it, heavy with a mingle of rot, clay, dust and shit. The odor might have a hundred different layers to it, but something about that foulness slipped past his bravado and left him freezing from the inside out. If he focused too much on it—

\--Nick knew he’d lose whatever control he had. Gritting his teeth, he turned away from the sound of shovels, and walked back to the car, mumbling to Greg about needing gloves. When he got there, Nick took a deep breath, and tried to think of something distracting. Sports . . . beer . . . Starr.

Oh that _last_ one would work just fine. Fumbling with the supplies in the back of the Denali, Nick took his time cataloging Starr’s more outstanding features in his mind, lingering on the ones he liked best. A part of him felt a slight pang of self-loathing; yeah he was a sexist pig for concentrating on tits and ass, but he gave a mental shrug after acknowledging his baser nature and continued.

Survival skill.

Great tits, oh yeah. Nick liked a good-sized chest on a woman, and Starr’s fit the bill; round, bouncy, eye-catching. A set of jahoobies like hers were probably more common in Vegas, but it never stopped him from admiring Starr’s anytime he could. Briefly, he wondered what her nipples were like, and that added curiosity made him grin. As he made his way back to the crime scene, he let himself keep focused on that question, and it helped.

Damned dirt.

“You okay?” Greg asked softly. Nick started, then nodded, flashing a grin he didn’t really feel.

“Yeah I’m good. What have we got?”

“Bones. Meaty ones from the look and . . . smell of it,” Greg offered up in a monotone. “Don’t think I’ll be getting ribs at dinner break today.”

“Nah, me either,” Nick agreed, trying not to grimace too much. “We might want to go for salads tonight.”

Greg nodded, and waved a hand. “Look, I’ve got it here; why don’t you get started on the sketch while the light’s still good.”

“You’re sure?” Nick tried not to let his relief show through and was glad when Greg didn’t look his way.

“Yeah. I’m already on it,” came the distracted voice.

They worked in quiet tandem for a while as the sun slipped down past the horizon, and the cool of twilight grew in mauve and grey-violet. The tape and uniforms kept onlookers far back, and since the scene was on the edge of the highway, the rest of the setting seemed peaceful enough.

Nick kept his eyes on the sketch, and moved upwind, all the better to miss the scent of dirt.

*** *** ***

Lunch break. Greg had his regular places all picked out according to taste and proximity; never one to leave things to chance he knew the food of Vegas the way another person might know the bookstores, or the massage parlors. He mentioned the Hanging Gardens and Nick agreed quickly. 

The Hanging Gardens was a salad and soup place, famed in Las Vegas for the freshest ingredients and a reasonable price. In the daytime, it was busy from ten minutes after they opened, but now, in the middle of the night, it was easier to get service. Nick and Greg ambled in, scanning the various salad bars and looking for a booth.

Greg grinned, pointing to a tall and curvy figure about three people ahead of them in line. “Hey! Guess who?”

Looking up, Nick was in time to catch Starr’s glance and grin; she slipped out of line to come join them, her smile infectious.

“Hey! My favorite dynamic duo! What brings you to the Gardens?”

“You,” They both blurted at the same time, and at the sound of their duet, Starr laughed, her face alight with pleasure. Nick and Greg glanced at each other, grinning, sharing a thought without saying it. Great minds—

“Total flirts, the pair of you—don’t stop _now_ ,” she drawled, going a little pink. “How’s your night been?”

“Gory. Let’s talk about something else,” Nick replied, still smiling. “Hey, did you ever get that twenty from Hodges?”

She laughed and went into an amusing story about the dour lab tech forfeiting on his bet, and Nick watched her the entire time.

Starr was eminently watchable. She had the long coltish form of a showgirl, with a perfect bouncy chest and tight little ass to boot, and on top of it all she was _nice,_ an endearing trait that left Nick standing just outside her personal space, feeling like a kid at a toy store window.

Yeah, still in orbit around _this_ heavenly body, he thought dimly to himself. His primal urge to jump Starr’s oh so gorgeous bones was constantly countered by his terror of screwing up one of the best friendships he had going.

Same damned fear as always. Do her and lose her—

“ . . . it’s irritating, but I’ll manage. So that’s why I’m looking for a renter,” she finished, reaching the cashier and fishing for her wallet. Nick blinked, but Greg already had money out and shot him an exasperated glance.

“I know, my turn, Stokes. Just be grateful that payday’s tomorrow” He turned back to Starr, adding, “So what are you asking a month, anyway? Because they’re talking about raising the rent over where I am, and the dryer in the laundry room never works anyway---“

Starr led the way to a back booth; Nick took the seat opposite her while Greg squeezed in next to her. She quoted a reasonable price. 

“Oh hey! I could do that! What do you think, Nick—should I make Starr my landlord?” Greg chortled, looking happier than he had all day. Nick blinked, a forkful of salad halfway to his mouth. 

_Greg moving in with STARR?_

“Sounds good to me!” she bubbled happily. “I know you, and who you work for, and believe me, the rent will REALLY help with the renovations out there---if you’re serious.” 

“He’s not serious,” Nick blurted, then tried to smile when Greg shot him an annoyed glance. 

“The hell I’m not! Hey, I’ve got first and last months ready to go; I could write a check for it right now---“ came the quiet but firm reply. “Just because I called dibs on it first---“ 

“Greg, get real—“ Nick tried to interject, but Starr broke in, her smile patient. 

“Hold it, Sanders, there is no ‘dibs’ here, all right? I have four bedrooms in this place, so that’s more than enough room for at LEAST one more renter---“ 

“See?” Greg nodded, “It’s not like I’m crowding in or anything---“ 

“Oh come ON, Greg! Moving in with Starr means . . . “ and he stopped, not sure quite what he wanted to say, but all sorts of the wrong things came to mind. Starr stared at Nick, but her expression was slightly worried. 

Greg merely looked confused. “Means what? That you’re jealous?” 

“No,” Nick muttered in a tone that made both Starr and Greg’s eyes widen. Starr laughed, reaching over to touch Nick’s hand. 

“You can move in too, Nick—I _told_ you, the place has tons of room. I’d _love_ to have you---“ She stopped, stricken by how that last phrase sounded, and the answering blush on Nick’s face made Greg laugh. 

“With an offer like that . . . I’d say get a room, but that’s sort of the point, right?” 

*** *** *** 

Getting through dinner had been interesting. The thrill of finding a new place; hell a new place complete with STARR no less offset the dour and glum face Nick was making all through the meal. Greg almost didn’t care, to be honest. 

Change. This change would be good. Better than good, actually—even if the place was a dump, the challenge of fixing it up, and having Starr around on a regular basis was incentive enough. Those were two damned big positives right there. 

And if anybody was sympathetic to change it was Starr, that was for certain. He and Nick had conversations about her. 

Once or twice, they’d even had Conversations. 

After all, neither of them was quite able to wrap their minds around the transgender thing completely. Maybe Grissom had the all-accepting ability to see people for who they wanted to be, but Greg knew it was still all a very interesting area for him. 

Very interesting. After all, while Greg himself liked having a penis, he wasn’t sure if a girl having one—or having HAD one—should intrigue him as much as it did. But . . . yeah, it did. 

Nick was curious too—Greg knew that. The two of them had both admitted to each other that making love to a woman who used to be a man would have some serious advantages, and considering it was Starr, she of the sweet husky laugh and incredible tits—well that put things into a whole new light. 

Not that Greg wanted to jeopardize the easy give and take he had with Starr by putting the moves on her while moving in. No. Certainly not. But in time . . . anything could happen, and he was cool with that. 

_Change. Change was going to be a good thing,_ he decided with a smile. 

*** *** *** 

Starr felt a tingle all across her chest, and tried not to smile to herself as she sat in the courtroom and sketched. The trial was boring; some sort of preliminary jury deliberation on a fraud case, but she needed the practice, and sometimes cases like this got more interesting when facts came to the public’s attention. 

Right now _her_ attention was on her new living situation, and how things were working out. This morning when she’d gotten up there was coffee made, and a note on the fridge door that read: 

_Hey Beautiful—if you need anything washed, leave it on top of the machine and I’ll get to it today after I wake up. In return, we could use more fabric softener, so if you get a chance to pick some up on the way home, Mucho Appreicado._

__

__

Have a good one! 

_G—_

She hated to admit it, but the damned note nearly made her cry. Starr might have blamed it on hormones, but she knew herself better than that. The truth was that it had been a long time since she’d had a roommate, and one that left notes at that. 

It was good to have someone around again. 

She and Greg had moved his stuff in nearly three weeks earlier, and had signed the rental agreement, taking it seriously—or as seriously as they could. They’d hammered out some rules, and divided the chores, alternating them by weeks so that neither of them got stuck with anything TOO long, and in the process Starr realized that Greg actually cared about being a part of the household. 

He was fun. Greg was the one who’d bought the beautiful bamboo wind chimes and hung them in the patio. Greg was the one who helped get the curtains up, and added a few of his own furniture pieces to the mix in the living room. Starr remembered coming home and finding a group of people giving estimates for steaming off the old wallpaper while Greg winked at her. 

So things were going really well . . . all except the Nick angle, unfortunately. 

Starr sighed. Ever since dinner at the Hanging Gardens, Nick had been avoiding her and Greg. He wasn’t rude or mean just . . . busy, ducking out of dinner breaks, and not answering her phone calls. She understood that the dynamics of their friendship had changed a little, but Starr felt the loss more than she wanted to admit. Greg was wonderful, but Nick was too, and she didn’t want him feeling like a third wheel. 

Greg felt it as well; they’d had a morning of Captain Crunch and conversation a few days back, and he’d laid things out for her in a way she hadn’t seen before. 

“He’s jealous of me, and worried that you’ll forget about _him,_ babe,” Greg had murmured, adorably cute in his flannel Star Trek pajama bottoms and tousled hair. 

She’d nearly overpoured her milk at his revelation. “Why? He’s got to know we aren’t sleeping together—it’s not like you and I are a couple or anything. Not that that would be a _bad_ thing,” she’d flirted, and Greg had smiled at that. 

“Oh, it wouldn’t be, yeah—but this is Nick. He’s got old-fashioned values built into his system, and from what I can tell, he’s convinced that he’s out of the equation.” 

“Greg,” she remembered asking. “Do you like him . . . more than as a friend?” It was a tricky question; she’d secretly suspected that in his time, Greg had played both sides of the fence, but was very discreet about the boy side. 

He’d shrugged, and given her that devastating, big-eyed Greg Sanders grin. “Nick’s handsome. And funny. And completely and utterly off-limits, even if I _was_ still experimenting, which--is still a work in progress, sometimes.” 

“Hmmm,” she’d replied, feeling both delighted and slightly saddened at Greg’s honesty. “I don’t know what to do then, babe. I want all of us to be happy, and— 

“Nick’s not,” Greg had agreed glumly. 

Still, back in the here and now, Starr couldn’t help but be delighted that at least Greg was with her. As she reached for her eraser, Starr hummed under her breath, wondering what he would think of her itty bitty Wonder Woman tee-shirt she’d so thoughtfully left for him on top of the washer. 

*** *** *** 

The knowledge lodged itself in the back of his mind, and Nick worried on it the way another person might pick at a scab, or a hangnail, perversely delighting in the tiny pain it caused afresh every time he considered it. 

_Starr and Greg, shacked up. Christ, there **is** no justice._

He wished it was that simple. That it was just anger that Greg had taken the step and he hadn’t. Nick wished he could be happy about it, even if both of them claimed they _weren’t_ involved beyond being roommates. 

As if. He’d seen the way Greg looked at Starr. Hell he’d looked at her the same way himself, and considering some of the conversations the two of them had HAD about her---- 

_"I’m sure her tits are real. They move, you know? The fake ones don’t, because they’re surgically anchored to the chest wall---_

__

__

Oh they’re real, all right. She does the hormones and stuff, but even before that, she told me she had plenty of estrogen to begin with, Nick. 

So if she had enough to grow a rack like that—she couldn’t have had much of a dick . . . could she? 

_You tell ME—you’re the one who did all the follow-up interviewing on the Mona Lavelle case. I’m sure all those girls at the Cock Pit offered to show you a thing or two.”_

And they had, Nick remembered, still feeling both slightly ashamed and aroused even now. Rounded hips and amazing asses, deep laughs and scars and stories of pain and pride. Even now Nick felt caught between wanting to be a gentleman and wanting to toss back a beer with them. 

Not something he really understood about himself, but hell, this job had a way of opening your eyes and making you take a stand on issues you never even considered before. 

And all that was _before_ getting kidnapped and buried alive. 

Still—for some reason Starr was all that and more. From the first time she’d sat out on the hall bench sketching him and Greg before they gave evidence at the Donagan case, all the way through their subsequent lunch and dinner breaks together, he’d gotten damned fond of the woman. She was smart, and funny. Liked sports. Was always willing to pay her share for the food. 

Damn it, she smelled good, too. Not just perfume, but that subtle scent of warm skin—the sort of smell that made a guy think horny thoughts of naked lazy Sundays making love all afternoon. 

It was with that very image that Nick unlocked his apartment door, wandered into his kitchen— 

And froze. 

Ants. 

Not one or two, but hundreds in long thick streams, moving in long, organized lines across his counter and along the edge of the sink. Others milling and moving in that odd pattern without pattern, and the sight of them dark and shiny--shifting in their--across the porcelain— _ohJesusnonononononononono--hit Nick in the stomach and throat like a one-two punch as old terror had at him._

_Remember Nick? That creepy crawly over your skin under your clothes--ohJesus the stinganditch, stinganditch, nevergettoSCRATCHthedamnmotherFUCKINGitches—_

He dropped his keys. A thin trickle of urine darkened the crotch of his jeans, and after wobbling a moment, Nick jerked backwards, hitting the wall next to the kitchen door with a heavy thud. 

_Can’tbreathe, antFuckohGod—_ Nick felt himself slide down the wall, terror constricting his throat. 

Ants. They kept . . . moving along the sink, lines on the counter, trailing doooooowwwn the cabinet, and _Fuckfuckonthefloor, goingtogethim---_

Scrabbling, he dug in his pocket, fumbled with it, hit a button, ANY button, fumbled more. 

Rings. _ComeonecomeONantsJesusnonot—_

“Nick?” 

Greg. Not a clue. No. Not worried, no care. NoANTSfor him— 

Nick tried to talk, but something else came out of his throat. 

*** *** *** 

They got him the hell out of there. 

Starr wrapped him in a blanket and put him into the car; Greg went back and pounded on the Manager’s door. Had it OUT with the little Guatemalan man behind it, who perspired profusely and agreed to have the apartment fumigated muy pronto, si—anything to stop the young wild-eyed man with the angry expression from threatening to call the building codes into question. 

Greg got back in the car, and drove while Starr stayed with Nick in the back, her arms around him. 

They debated taking him to Desert Palms. Starr wanted to make sure he was physically all right, but Greg shook his head. Taking him to a hospital would make things worse, and bring back extra, unwanted memories, he argued. 

“He doesn’t have any bites or stings on him, Starr, and frankly there isn’t anything anyone at DP could do for him. They’d send him home.” 

She winced, and Greg saw it in the rear-view mirror, nodding. In her arms, Nick had his eyes closed. He was trembling, but other than that, quiet. Starr felt for his pulse along the side of his neck, which was cool and damp. “He’s in shock, Greg. When we get home, let’s get him in my electric blanket.” 

“Good idea. I checked his medicine cabinet and picked up one of his prescriptions, so he’ll be able to sleep,” Greg replied tersely. “Maybe. God, I should call in sick for him tonight, and he’ll have the weekend to deal.” <

“Sounds good,” Starr murmured, and they were all quiet for the rest of the ride home. 

Nick went with them, still pale and not recognizing much of anything. Greg loped ahead and got out the blanket, plugging it in. Starr led Nick in, still holding him as best she could while walking, talking to him in soothing tones the entire way. “Come on, babe, it’s not far, we can sit down and rest a while, all right?” 

When they crossed the doorway, Nick shuddered violently, and Greg came over, cupping his face with both hands. “Easy, Nick. You’re okay. We’ve got you.” 

Something in his low and soothing tone seemed to help and Nick relaxed a tiny bit. He gave another shudder, but shuffled forward. Starr behind him, Greg in front, the both of them guiding him in. 

“Greg—he’s um . . . damp,” Starr whispered. 

Greg nodded. “Not surprised. We’ll get him cleaned up.” 

Nick stood in the living room, blank and passive, not seeing anything, but not fighting them either. Greg looked at Starr for a moment. “I’ll get him some sweats—see if you can start getting his shirt off . . . “ 

Starr nodded, trying to keep her focus on the practical aspects. When Greg slipped away to his room, she turned to Nick and gently tugged on his shirt. “Okay Nick, sweetie—let’s see if we can’t get you a little . . . warmer . . . “ 

He stood there, blinking, and she reached over to undo his buttons. Nervousness made her fumble a bit, but gradually she managed to undo all of them, and tugged his shirt free of his jeans, revealing Nick’s pale but well-defined torso. The sight of it made her mouth a little dry; she’d always suspected Mr. Stokes had something worth seeing under his Henleys and button-downs. “O-kay,” Starr murmured, sliding the shirt off of him. “Nick, we need to, um, undo your pants, honey . . .“ 

Still no help from him. Nick’s gaze was far off and unfocused. Starr bit her lips, then shrugged and reached for the top button on his jeans. Greg came back just then, hands full of clothing, and warm, damp washcloth. When Starr glanced guiltily in his direction, he grinned crookedly. “Need a hand?” 

“Yeah . . . “ she confessed, glad for the interruption. 

Greg moved over and rolled his eyes a little, undoing the buttons for the fly. “Dude, if you remember this at _all_ tomorrow, remember I didn’t make a pass at you while it happened, okay?” he muttered as he shifted his hands up to Nick’s hips and began to tug the waistband down. The jeans dropped, and Greg worked the briefs off as well, trying not to look and not completely succeeding. 

Starr looked. Drawn to the unveiling as both a female and an artist, she gazed on Nick’s now partially exposed body with a rush of tenderness and awe, holding back any lustful thoughts in the wake of his renewed trembling. “He’s cold—let’s get him dressed and warm, Greg . . . “ 

God. Chisled abs; flat stomach with adorable little innie belly button, flare of thick, curly dark hair and ohhhMY--- 

Greg broke into her thoughts. “Yeah—take his stuff to the washer while I get him wiped up and into my pants—er, you know what I mean . . . “ 

They both got a quick case of the nervous, snorty giggles for a moment, then felt guilty about it; Starr picked up the slightly pungent jeans and briefs along with the shirt and scooted out to the garage. Once there she loaded them into the washer and leaned on warm enameled lid, trying to make her hormones calm down and wondering what to do next. 

Nick was just going to _have_ to be all right, Starr decided. He needed her. And Greg. Both of them would take care of him, and he’d be fine. 

Feeling slightly better, she came back into the house, making her way back to the living room. Greg had managed to get Nick into a pair of faded gray sweat pants and was wrapping him in the blanket, his voice soothing as he rambled on. Starr came over. 

“ . . . and I know you’re going to be okay, but just do us a favor and bunk down here with us tonight, you know? Lots of room, and we’ll do your laundry and later, if you get hungry, I’ll open a can of Chicken and Stars for you—My Papa Olaf used to say that there’s almost nothing in life that a good mug of Chicken and Stars can’t fix." 

Nick looked up. It was the first time he’d responded to anything since they’d dashed over to his apartment and found him curled up on his kitchen floor. Greg’s relief washed over him, and Starr came closer, putting her arms around them both. 

“G-Greg?” came his soft and uncertain voice. The sound of it hit Starr hard, and she hugged more tightly; Nick turned his head and looked at her. “Starr?” 

Wonder in his tone now. She lightly rubbed her cheek against his. “Yeah baby. We’re both _right_ here and not about to let you go, you hear?” 

He relaxed. Starr and Greg felt the slow slump of Nick’s shoulders at the same time, and a quick glance at Greg showed her he was blinking as much as she was. 

Both of them felt the relief. Starr guided Nick down to the sofa and sat next to him, pulling the blanket around her own shoulders as well. “Right here . . . “ she reassured him once more, finally breathing easier. 


	2. Chapter 2

Greg kept his panic back and assessed the situation. He tried to look at things carefully and objectively, but under it the anger seethed. He wanted to kill ants. He wanted to throttle the damned landlord. He wanted to make things all right for Nick and he had no way of knowing if he could.

If it was too late.

But Starr was there, listening to his directions and keeping Nick safe, so it was all right to drive and bring him back WITH them, to the house. 

The house would do Nick good. They could keep him safe there, Greg decided, knowing that there wasn’t anything a trip to the hospital could do but traumatize the situation further. Nick needed quiet and warmth; two things he and Starr could give him plenty of.

They got Nick inside, and then came the tricky part of stripping him down. Greg worried about that, simply because he knew Nick needed to get out of his soiled clothes, but knowing it and doing something about it were two different things.

Especially when it meant seeing Nick naked.

He’d seen Nick naked before; they’d passed through the locker room often enough, but Greg had been good about not checking anyone out. Not that he wasn’t tempted at times, but work was work, and he knew better than to forget that.

However, here, in the middle of the living room—that wasn’t work, and Nick wasn’t about to help, so Greg gritted his teeth and did what need to be done. He kept his thoughts as blank as possible, but even then, he was half-hard by the time he’d gotten Nick dressed and under the blanket again.

It was that _body_ , Greg thought miserably. If Nick had a paunch, or some love handles it would have helped, but nooooo, Stokes had to be trim and in great shape, damn it.

And vulnerable.

Greg was glad when Starr came back and wrapped her arms around them both, then, because it made Nick relax, and when Nick relaxed, things were better. Not perfect, but—

\--yeah. Better.

On the sofa, the three of them made a lumpy pile of arms and legs and blankets. The heating unit was working, and Greg turned it down, knowing body heat would start factoring in pretty quickly now.

“Okay, I have the remote, Greg—want to find something easy for us?” Starr murmured, passing it to him. Greg took it and put the volume low, surfing around until they hit a nature channel special on manatees. He settled down, keeping one arm slung around Nick, pretending to watch. In truth, he was using his peripheral vision to watch Nick and Starr.

Nick was blinking a little; not talking, but a tiny bit more alert and very tired. He was slumped against Starr’s shoulder, yawning, looking like he was twelve. Starr was gently stroking his hair, and then she looked up at Greg and there was something warm and womanly in her expression that made him breathe a little harder.

He let his arm move around Nick’s back, and Starr shifted to slide one hand into his, squeezing it. The simple contact; cozy and strong left Greg happy, and he turned back to the manatees, still holding Starr’s fingers.

*** *** *** 

Nick wasn’t sure where he was. It was comfortable, so he didn’t want to move just yet. The room was dark except for the TV, which was showing an old episode of Matlock. He lifted his head and looked around, feeling a little alarmed.

Not his place—and then the memory came back and he flinched, hard.

_Fucking ANTS!_

“Shhhhhhh, it’s okay, Nick. We’ve got you—“ came a soothing voice through the semi-darkness. “You’re okay.”

Nick turned his head, knowing that voice. He looked over and up into Greg’s sleepy smile. “What---?” he began in a thick, confused voice.

“You’re with us. It’s about six in the morning, and you’re not going in to work tonight. Go back to sleep,” Greg soothed. Nick shifted his gaze and realized someone was slumped on him.

Someone warm.

“The hell?” Nick managed as he realized Starr was snuggled up along his ribs, snuffling a little in her sleep. He looked to Greg for an explanation. Greg already had his eyes closed again, but he spoke in a half-whisper.

“Do you remember anything about yesterday?”

Nick felt a chill run through him despite the blanket and press of bodies under it. He tensed, and Starr protested in a little unconscious murmur. Greg sighed. “Your apartment had an . . . invasion. You . . . freaked out, and Starr and I went to get you. We brought you back here.”

Nick closed his eyes, and distorted bits of memory returned; jagged flashbacks of his kitchen sink. He shuddered, and reassuringly, Greg’s arm around his shoulders tightened. “S’okay.”

“No. It’s not—“ Nick protested. “I’m—I’m sorry. I don’t know why . . ." he began, then stopped when Greg opened his eyes and stared at him patiently. “No, I do. Been working on it . . . but it’s still . . ."

“Hard. Yeah,” Greg murmured with empathy. “Hey, the one place you thought was safe was suddenly overrun with the one thing you hate the most. I’d say that was a perfect recipe for a massive freak-out.”

“I did _not_ ‘freak out,’ Greg—" Nick tried to protest, but it was for show; he grinned weakly when a cynical snort came back.

“Riiiight . . ."

“Okay, I . . . reacted. Strongly,” Nick admitted grudgingly. “But I’m okay now.”

“That’s good,” Greg nodded, and yawned. “So go back to sleep. I’ll make waffles later.”

Nick thought about getting up, but he was warm and not in any particular rush to head back into a kitchen full of--

He closed his eyes again.

*** *** ***

By the time three in the afternoon rolled around, Starr found herself pulling the battered old waffle iron down, humming as Greg added more milk to the batter. At the breakfast bar, Nick was slouched over the counter, looking a little uncomfortable at being shirtless, but neither she nor Greg said anything.

She was hoping Nick would relax and forget about it, so she could keep enjoying the view. Starr suspected Greg felt the same way.

“You guys don’t _have_ to make breakfast for me . . ." Nick mumbled, but Starr shrugged, and plugged the iron in, watching the light on the end glow amber.

“I think Greg’s making it for all of us. At least, he _better_ be,” she replied, looking over. Greg was cheerfully adding a little vanilla to the batter and whisking it soundly.

“Yep. This should give us at least two apiece. How’s the bacon coming?”

“Almost done,” Starr replied, checking the pan on the stove. She handed Nick some silverware. “Set for us in the nook, would you? Coffee or orange juice?”

“Coffee . . . “ Nick perked up and shifted off the stool, padding over to the table against the wall. Starr noted that the fit of the sweats was very nice over his trim backside. 

Then she turned and caught Greg’s grin; she blushed.

“Let’s get this batter flowing . . . “ he chortled, and moved to pour a ladle-full onto the primed iron.

In a few minutes, everything was ready, and Starr squeezed in next to Nick on one bench while Greg took the one across from them and served up hot, crispy waffles. 

Nick dove in like a starving man, and Starr shared another amused glance with Greg, knowing they both felt the same sense of pleasure in seeing him eat. For a long couple of minutes no one spoke; syrup and butter were passed, cutlery clanked on plates. Then Nick looked up. “These are great, Greg. Let me guess—old Norwegian recipe?”

“Little known fact: Betty Crocker is actually from Flekkefjord,” Greg chirped. “I think my Grandpa dated her back during the Second World War.”

Starr laughed, making a little syrup run down her chin. She dabbed it clean. “He did _not_!”

“Hojem lips are hard to resist, baby,” Greg replied, batting his eyes at her. She had to turn away not to choke on her mouthful of waffle, and Nick laughed aloud.

“Don’t know about the lips, but with waffles like these . . ."

“Yeah, yeah," Greg waved his fork, but there was a little pride in his tone too.

Starr passed the plate of bacon. “So, which bedroom do you want, Nick? There’s the one by the laundry room, or the other one upstairs off the master bedroom.”

Nick looked up, his brows coming together. “Oh hey, I can’t _stay_ . . ."

“I’m afraid you’re going to _have_ to,” Greg told him, taking a few pieces of bacon. “Your place—in fact that whole side of your complex—is getting fumigated. I took a few pictures of your kitchen and your manager, Mr. Bibian assured me that the exterminators would be out by today. It’s going to take at least two days, maybe more.”

“But my clothes . . . hell, my _fish_ . . ." Nick sat up straighter; Starr rubbed her shoulder against his.

“You have fish? I didn’t know that! What kind?”

“Fantails and a few Black Moors,” Nick murmured. “One Lionhead.”

Greg looked puzzled, but Starr grinned. “Fancy goldfish! We can bring the tank over, no problem. So which room?”

Nick paused, and looked from Greg to Starr and back again, his face pale, his expression clearly torn between rejecting their offer and taking it. 

Very gently, Greg moved to tip the scale. “Just for a few days, Nick, we know.”

Nick’s expression cleared a bit and he nodded. “Okay, yeah. Now I don’t want to put you guys out or anything—I’ll pay; I’m good for that . . ."

“We’ll work it out,” Starr told him. “How are you at steaming wallpaper?”

*** *** *** 

Greg knew it was going to get awkward again; Nick always had a hard time when EVER anyone did him a favor, and this one was a doozy. Part of it was that ingrained self-reliance that seemed common to all Texans, and the other was because of Nick’s more recent past, and his sensitivity to help from others.

He wondered if it would be easier if he himself wasn’t in the house; if moving in with just Starr as a roommate would have been less of a problem for Nick.

Too bad, Greg mused stubbornly. They’d been a happy little clutch; an equilateral triangle; Three Musketeers for nearly a year up to now—no way was he going to step out just to make things easier for Nick. 

Not that it was any simpler from his side, Greg admitted to himself. He’d had roommates before, and aside from all the little mundane matters, like figuring out how to divide up an electricity bill three ways there were big issues too, of personal and shared space, and what to do about their various love lives.

As far as Greg could tell, neither he nor Nick had love lives at the moment, so that was two thirds solved. Whether or not Starr had one was . . . unknown. His casual question of a few weeks ago—“So, seeing anyone?”—had been met with a secretive smile and a coy, “Sometimes,” that annoyed him.

Starr wasn’t supposed to be seeing anyone. She was supposed to be lonely and susceptible to his shy Norwegian charms, just the way she was in all his fantasies. His favorite one was the one where overcome with trembling lust, she threw herself on him and rode him like a pony at a birthday party, complete with bouncing and squeals of delight . . .

Yee hah! Greg grinned to himself.

So the idea that Starr periodically stepped out was not one Greg liked much. Still—he hadn’t seen any evidence of male company so far. A few phone calls she’d answered and taken into her room, but nothing overtly obvious at the moment. Greg had met a few of her co-workers from the bar, and some of the other courtroom artists, but nobody who looked dateable from those pools.

He thought again about life under one roof. So far he and Starr had alternated making or bringing home dinner—which was generally the meal they had at about six in the morning. Starr worked the night shift out at the Cock Pit, and generally came home around the same time _he_ did, so it seemed natural to eat together.

So far, Nick was doing okay. They’d all helped move the fish, and the building manager gave them a copy of the fumigation schedule; four days minimum, and after that another day for the company to take down their equipment. 

He’d taken the bedroom off the laundry room, and had most of his stuff still in suitcases. Greg had teasingly warned Starr NOT to go in and unpack for him and she’d pretended to pout. 

“But I have my two boyfriends living with me now—I want him to feel welcome!” she’d argued, and drove Greg crazy by pulling him into a deep, happy hug. He’d hugged back, and things got much warmer for a moment before they both let go. 

Serious heat, Greg thought, and smiled at the tingle of remembered contact. Starr was a skinny girl with big boobs, and a way of wrapping her arms around a person that left them completely hugged, and Greg loved being the recipient of those hugs. 

*** *** *** 

It felt weird and good at the same time. Nick couldn’t quite put his finger on why he kept bouncing between those two perspectives when he parked at the curb the past five mornings and brought home the coffee. Starr was usually there, doing something with rice and chicken or hamburger, and Greg would show up a while later, sometimes with bagels. They’d chow down and talk—just the way they’d been doing for ages—but the difference was afterwards he’d head off to a bedroom right on the premises and sack out. 

A nice bedroom. Nicer than holing up at a motel, that was for sure. The wall paper was some floral thing, but Starr had talked about taking it down and doing the walls in a nice light sand color, and Nick knew that would look good. The window overlooked the back patio, which was a gem—Mexican tile with a real terracotta fountain in the middle, and the sound of it was really soothing. 

I like it here, Nick thought to himself glumly. He’d never thought he’d wanted to be living with other people around him again—years at home, then later in dorms and fraternities had made him hungry for his own space, but at times, the simple sound of Starr singing a few rooms over, or Greg’s radio downstairs was oddly comforting. 

Having the two of them close felt . . . right. Not like family, but better than friends. Roommates, he supposed, but that word didn’t quite cover it either. He looked down at the basket of laundry in his hands, noting that Starr and Greg’s stuff were mixed in it; his concert tee-shirts and her hip hugger jeans— 

Strong mingled feelings rose up in Nick, and he gave a sigh, wishing things were easier. Much as he loved being at the house, he knew he needed to face up to his fears and not shy away from them . . . 

His cell phone rang; Starr’s ring tone of _Ma Cherie Amour_. Grinning a little, he flipped it open. “Hey Starr—" 

“Nick, oh God, can you come get me? I’m down here at the police station,” she blurted, her voice breaking a little. He stiffened, clutching the phone a bit closer. 

“Starr? What happened? Are you _okay_?” he shot back, suddenly feeling a rush of frantic concern. Her voice came back, tinny but relieved. 

“There was this fight at the bar. I’m okay, except for a banged-up nose and my lip’s a little swollen." 

“Starr!” frustrated and yet relieved, Nick strode through the house, moving for Greg’s room as he spoke. “You hold on; we’re coming to get you, babe. Greg!” 

He reached the other bedroom. Startled, Greg looked up from his computer keyboard and tugged his ear buds out. Nick motioned to him, and spoke aloud. “We’ll take you to the Emergency room." 

“Emergency! What happened? Is it Starr?” Greg blurted, glancing from Nick down to the phone on his desk. The message light was blinking and Greg cursed softly as he picked it up. Nick motioned for him to follow. 

“We’ll be right there—hang in there, okay? Okay. That’s my girl, ten minutes, tops.” Snapping the phone shut he looked at Greg, who already had car keys out. “Bar fight.” 

“Crap,” Greg winced. “Where is she?” 

Nick told him. 

They reached the station in fifteen minutes; being able to park in the employee’s lot helped. Star was huddled on one of the hallway benches, damp Kleenex on her nose. She looked up, brightening when she saw them heading towards her. “Hi guys.” 

“Hi. Let’s have a look,” Nick murmured, helping her peel back the wet tissue. Her nose was red and a little swollen; nothing major, but clearly it would be tender for a few days. Starr’s lower lip was puffy as well, and a thin purple split ran down the seam right in the middle. She licked it self-consciously as he watched, and Nick felt a pang deep within him that wasn’t completely about comforting her. 

“We need to get you some ice—so, how many did you take out?” Greg asked her with a slightly twisted grin. She slipped into his proffered hug, squeezing hard. 

“Two and a half." 

“Half?” 

“I kneed him and he didn’t go down—just threw up.” 

“Ah,” Greg grinned. “You fight like a girl, babe. A MEAN girl.” 

“I could knee YOU-" 

“Now, now, kids—“ Nick interjected, feeling amused and exasperated at the same time. “Let’s not inflict any injuries we’re gonna regret, especially in front of all these nice officers.” 

Both Starr and Greg settled down, and Nick smiled crookedly. “Well, the damage is a lot less than I thought it was going to be. We could still run you by the Emergency room if you want, but frankly at this point I think getting some Ibuprofen and fluids into you would be more effective.” 

Starr nodded, retrieving the soggy Kleenex. 


	3. Chapter 3

Starr had the master bedroom, and she’d done work on the walls here, painting them a soft blush, with a dappling of gold sparkles that gave them interesting highlights. The carpet was champagne, and sculpted; rising above it, the master bed was a huge affair, covered with a plain gold spread, and fifteen little chenille throw pillows in deep, gem colors of forest green, buttercup yellow, candy apple red and royal blue. Greg flopped on one corner of the bed, laughing.

“Geez, welcome to Happy Acres! I LOVE this bed—what size is it, anyway?”

“California King,” Starr told him gently. “An orgy training ground, or so I’ve been told.”

Nick put his hands on his hips, but he couldn’t help grinning at her words. “And I always thought you were a _nice_ girl.” 

She waved the damp Kleenex at him airily. “Oh I am. Just not all the time.”

“As evidenced by the injures sustained, yeah," Greg chimed in. “Let’s get you in bed.”

Starr looked over at him, smirking. “You’ve been _dying_ to say that, haven’t you, Greg Sanders?”

“All my life,” he admitted cheerfully, and even Nick grinned.

Starr dropped the soggy tissue into the garbage can next to the nightstand. “Fine. I’m going to shower and get into my PJs, and _you_ two can figure out which one of you is tucking me in.”

“We can’t _both_ do it?” Greg wanted to know.

Starr shook her head. “Because you were both mean about my twenty acre bed, no. As Tina Turner would say: Two men comment; one man leave. Flip a coin or something.”

So saying, she stepped into the bathroom and shut the door behind her, grinning. 

Starr took her time showering, but by the time she stepped out, she was ready for bed. The fight had taken a lot out of her—confidence mostly—and the adrenaline was gone now, leaving fatigue behind. Her nose hurt, her muscles still ached a bit, and under it all, Starr was a little depressed as well. The fight had been a stupid one and dangerous; despite it ending quickly it could have gotten much worse, she knew.

She smoothed down her pink satin tap panty pajamas and with a last run of the brush through her hair, Starr stepped out of the bathroom and looked around.

She grinned. Her coverlet was turned back, there was a little candy on her pillow, and Nick sat on the edge of the mattress, a glass of water in one hand and the pain relievers in the other. She sauntered over. “Okay, did you win or lose the coin toss?”

Nick dimpled at her. “Oh this is definitely winning in anybody’s book. Come on and take one of these so you can sleep, hon.”

He handed her the cup of water and shook out a couple of tablets for her. Dutifully Starr washed them down and finished the water, touched that Nick was making sure she took them. She set the candy aside and slipped into bed, piling the pillows up around her. Nick pulled the covers up to her chin and looked at her arrangements with a smile.

“Like to be buried in pillows?”

“It’s a big bed and I like to cuddle,” Starr confessed in a small voice. “The pillows help me not feel so alone in it.”

He lost his teasing expression and sat down on the edge of the mattress again, reaching to brush her hair from her temple.

“You’re not alone, okay? Me and Greg are never more than a yell away.”

“Yeah,” Starr nodded, feeling better. “That makes all the difference. So—"

“So. Lights out for a lucky bartender. I think you ought to stick to art, Starr—not many fights break out in the courtrooms these days,” Nick told her. She reached for his hand and pulled him to her; he bent lower and lightly touched her nose. “Not too bad. I think you’ll live.”

“Kiss it and make it better,” Starr commanded, and Nick laughed softly. He bent lower and pressed a light, little kiss on the very tip. The feel of his warm breath made Starr sigh. “Now the lip.”

“Really?” His voice was wary.

“It won’t get better unless you kiss it,” she tried to tease, but her voice was a bit breathless. This was a risky moment; a boundary pushed, and she didn’t know if Nick was ready for it.

He paused, looking at her, and then gently leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. Light, tender pressure, and the softest mouth Starr had ever felt. She shivered as little thrills raced all over her body, bringing every cell to full alert.

Nick. Oh, yes, NICK, she thought dizzily, and closed her eyes. 

He didn’t move, neither pressing harder nor withdrawing; just lingering in the soft nuzzle of his mouth to hers. Starr breathed in his warm scent, so sweet and familiar. She whispered, her words slightly slurred. “Niiiiiiiice----"

‘Mmmmmm,” came his soft agreement. “Yeahh." 

Spontaneously they both shifted at the same time, and the tentative nature of their kiss morphed, becoming more intense and immediate. 

No longer a comfort kiss, not at _all_ , and Starr lost herself in it blindly, seeking and giving in easy synchronicity of stomach-tightening pleasure. Kissing Nick left her breathless and hungry, tingly and eager for more. She gasped for air, nearly laughing at his dark-eyed, slightly dazed expression when they reluctantly broke apart long minutes later. “Gooooooood.”

“Hell yeah,” he agreed, his words slightly stunned. “Starr---"

She put her hand up, long, tapered fingers to the lips she’d just been kissing. “Shhhhhh. Thank you. Thank you for showing me that you feel something between us _too,_ Nick. Now I’m going to sleep and I’m going to have _wonderful_ dreams---you get some rest too, okay?”

The words and tone were more confident than she actually felt, but Nick nodded, his gaze locked on her as he unwillingly rose from the side of her bed, his hands running down the front of his thighs.

She didn’t dare risk looking at them.

Instead, Starr smiled and reached for the bedside lamp, settling down under the covers. She clicked the light off once Nick had reached the bedroom doorway, and waited, waited, waited until his footsteps slowly grew softer out in the hall beyond before she burst into tears, muffling them in her pillow.

*** *** *** 

Greg looked up, saw Nick’s face and felt his stomach tense. _Oh. Could go either way---_

Casually, he made himself look back at the television, and flick to another channel. “She okay?”

A monosyllabic grunt.

She _did_ it. Damn—Greg thought to himself, feeling a sense of amusement along with a prickle of jealousy.

He wasn’t sure which of them he was jealous of.

Buuuuut, that just made life more interesting.

“Yeah, well I don’t really need you to go into ALL the details there, Nick. I forget what a motor mouth you are sometimes,” he teased, still not looking at the other man. Nick moved to the kitchen, took out orange juice from the fridge, poured a glass, and then stared at it. Greg looked over through the doorway at him, finally. “Using your laser vision to heat it up?”

“No,” Nick mumbled. “No, man, just---I’m going to move back to my place.”

Greg tensed, and tried to hide it; any resistance now would only spook Nick more, he knew. Better to let the man stew a bit. “Right now? Because I don’t want to miss the last ten minutes here—"

“No, not this minute,” Nick groused, still staring at the orange juice. “Tomorrow. I don’t want things to be . . . weird around here.”

Greg let the comment hang in the air a moment, hearing the reluctance in Nick’s voice. He looked over at Nick. “Newsflash. Things are already weird around here. That’s the status quo. You and I are living with a sweet transvestite transsexual.”

“Starr’s not from Transylvania,” Nick rose to the bait, distracted for a moment. “She’s from Justiceburg, Texas.”

Greg waved the remote. “Whatever. My point is that just because you laid a good one on her in kissing her goodnight doesn’t mean you have to move out, okay?”

Nick stared at him, and Greg stared back, not blinking. “How did you . . . know?”

_Time to be careful, Greggo. Very, very careful._

Greg sighed. “Because Starr _told_ me she was hoping that you would. And given that deer-in-the-headlights look on your face, it’s logical to assume said smoochy-face did indeed, happen. I’m betting it was pretty damned good, too.”

The quick, beautiful grin from Nick was answer enough, and Greg grinned back. Slightly flustered now, Nick ran a hand over his face and paced in the kitchen, shaking his head. Greg flicked over another infomercial.

“So. Starr told _you_ that she wanted me to kiss her?”

“Yep.”

“And you didn’t—talk her out of it, or get, you know—jealous?” Nick asked curiously. “Because I _know_ you’re just as into her as I am—"

Greg gave a huge sigh. “Be- _cause_ right from the get-go we’ve always been a triangle. A triangle that somehow, sort of . . . works, Nick. Starr cares about you and me, you care about me and Starr and I care about _you_ and Starr. She invited BOTH of us to come live with her if you recall, and now that we do, she’s thrilled. She. Wants. BOTH. Of. Us.”

Nick looked stunned. So stunned that Greg wanted to laugh; it was the face of a man completely pole axed by the information he’d just been handed. A sitcom face.

Then Nick scooped up his glass of orange juice, downed it in a few gulps and set it back on the counter. “Shit.”

“No shit,” Greg replied in a somber voice. “Seriously, this can’t be _news_ to you, Nick.”

There was a long pause, and Greg found himself holding his breath, waiting to see what Nick would do. What he would say.

Greg risked a glance over towards the kitchen, totally unprepared to see the sudden slump of Nick’s shoulders, the quick hand swipe across his eyes. Panic and something more welled in him, but he kept his voice steady. “Nick?”

“I’m all right,” came the slightly gruff reply. “Put it on ESPN, ‘kay?”

*** *** *** 

Nick closed his eyes, feeling the sting behind them, fighting the surge of . . . . whatever it was. Not panic, exactly. Not anger, exactly. Not lust, exactly. Some weird-ass combination of all of it, with some exasperation and WTF thrown in for good measure.

BOTH. Of. Us. Greg’s words were still ringing in his ears. Real words, that meant something, but right now he couldn’t process the full impact, because it meant going there and there was still pretty new territory.

As in BOTH. Him and Greg. Kissing Starr. And not just ‘peck on the cheek like Grandma’ either. Full wet tongue plunges just like he’d done moments before . . . 

Nick pushed himself away from the counter, reached into the fridge for two beers and left the kitchen, making his way to the living room and glumly throwing himself down on the far end of the sofa from Greg. Wordlessly he handed one bottle to Greg. On the screen, a huge weightlifter was struggling with a barbell with weights on it the size of motorcycle wheels.

Greg said nothing.

Nick said nothing.

A commercial came on for some fabulous underarm deodorant.

Nick stirred. “Both of us.” He opened his beer and took a huge gulp.

“Both of us.”

“And just _how_ \--" he sighed, “—is that supposed to work, Greggo? Do we make out a chart, like for the laundry? Flip a coin? Arm wrestle?”

“It better _not_ be arm wrestling,” Greg intoned darkly. “I’d have to have to explain my bandaged wrists at work.”

“Hey, I’d never hurt you—"

“Not _you,_ Starr,” Greg replied. “Don’t let those skinny hands fool you, man—she’s got a grip.”

“And you know this because--?” Nick demanded, curious and hating himself for it. Greg flashed him a quick, careless grin. 

“Because we’ve already arm-wrestled. And before you get all cranky, it was completely innocent, okay? Starr and I have been totally, deliberately platonic up to now. Not that I’ve wanted to—“ he admitted, “But it wouldn’t have been . . . fair.” 

“Platonic,” Nick repeated, not looking convinced. 

Greg nodded. “Yes. I’m one up on you because I’ve seen her topless, but you’ve gotten to kiss her, so I think we’re still on even footing.” 

“You have _not_ seen her topless—“ Nick shot back, his eyes narrowing. Greg smirked. 

“Laundry room, early evening two weeks ago. She was changing bras for work and left the door ajar. I had to wipe the drool off my chin before she came out.” 

Greg remembered it well; the sweet angularity of Starr’s profile contrasting to the abundant curves of her breasts in the half-light of doorway; the glimpse of deep pink nipples, perky in the cool air—It had been a beautiful sight indeed, one that still got him a little breathless. 

“Damn,” Nick muttered, pulling him out of his momentary reverie. 

Greg gave a nod. “Primo. But I think you’re missing the point here, and it’s kind of important.” 

“Oh I get the point—it’s just having it sink in that’s taking some time. No offense, Greg, but the whole idea of sharing a girlfriend is new to me,” Nick drawled softly. “I know this is Vegas, and a lotta weird things happen here, but _this_. . .” he trailed off, looking perplexed. 

Greg was relieved to note that Nick wasn’t freaked out though; that in itself was a hopeful sign. “Sure, I get it—not like this is something I’ve done before myself you know. I mean I’ve dated around, but it’s not as if this scenario ever came up before for me either.” 

Nick rubbed his chin. “Both of us. Did you actually . . . you know, _talk_ to Starr about this, or is this just your take on things?” 

Greg set his beer down and calmly stretched out, forcing himself to relax. “We talked about it. It’s amazing what comes out when you split a bottle of schnapps and a box of Saltines sometimes. Anyway, this was about three days after I moved in, and in the course of covering this and that, Starr told me that she was thrilled I was there, and that life would be perfect when YOU moved in as well. Naturally this hit the Sanders ego hard for a moment, but she went on to explain that since we’d always done everything in threes, that this was her ultimate three—her, me and you.” 

Greg paused a moment, then went on. “So I asked her for more specifics, and it got to the down and dirty, if you get my drift. Our Starr is a sweet little honey, but that’s only on the outside. Deep down, she’s some sort of Earth Mother Lust Goddess, Nick, because some of the scenarios she had laid out for us were . . . “ Greg trailed off, his voice husky. “ . . . mind-blowing. Sex, yeah, but somehow, hearing her describe it all made it sound better than that. I’m not sure I can explain it, man, but that’s what hooked me. Not the kinkiness, not the combinations—it was something else in her voice. In her eyes.” He swallowed hard for a moment, adding, “Honestly, I can’t lay it out any better than that.” 

The pause was long and heavy now. 

Greg felt his heart beating faster now as adrenaline and emotion surged through him. “Come on, Nick—you know it could be—would be—good for us. Maybe the best thing two broken bums like us will ever get in a long, long time. Someone to love. Someone to love US, even when the two of us freak out, and have our nightmares and . . . all the shitty rest of it.” 

Another pause, this one stretching on and on. 

Greg held his breath. 

_please_

“ . . . yeah.” 

Just that. A simple sigh, low and deep. Greg didn’t risk looking over directly at Nick, but out of the corner of his eye he could see the soft slump of those square shoulders, the slow drop of his head to his chest. 

Yeah. 

Yeah. 

Acceptance never looked so humble, and blinking, Greg reached out a hand across the cushions, grabbing Nick’s and giving it one hard squeeze before letting it go. 

*** *** *** 

Starr came in at breakfast, barefoot, in jeans and a spaghetti strap tee. Before Nick could say anything, she bent down and kissed him, hard. Greg laughed all the way until she turned and did the same to him, lingering a little before pulling back with a blush. 

“So. We’ll need to talk, but not right this minute, because I’ve got the steaming equipment coming in about an hour. You two DID remember what we’re doing today, right?” 

Nick grinned sheepishly. “As many rooms as possible, yeah, yeah. I want mine done first though. Flowers are NOT my style.” 

“Oh, like the pacifier wallpaper is doing MY machismo any good,” Greg grumbled. “Come on! At least yours doesn’t make you feel like you’re in diapers.” 

Starr laughed, and set out a box of corn puffs. “We’ll get both rooms done, and let them dry so we can get them painted. If you do a good job, I’ll order dinner from Lucille’s, and we can have barbeque with all the trimmings.” 

“Oooh,” Nick murmured appreciatively. “Good bribe.” 

“Nah, I’m being practical. We won’t be in the mood to cook, trust me,” Starr told him, bringing the milk to the table. 

The rest of the day passed easily, and in the process of moving from one crisis to another—too much steam. Greg getting stuck in a peeling roll of extra sticky paper, a broken window—the rooms were done in good time. Almost all of them, anyway. There was still one wall of Nick’s room that needed steaming, but it could wait for tomorrow. Starr walked from room to room, surveying the progress with an inner sense of satisfaction, pleased at a chore well done. 

They’d done a good job. Whoever had put up the paper nearly thirty years ago had been sadists, using three times the paste necessary, and Starr hated them for it. It had been hard to take the rolls off neatly, and she still had bits of paper and paste under all her nails. Her shoulders ached, she smelled like papier-mâché, and she was hungry, but the walls were bare, and with a little sanding, would be ready for paint. 

Starr moved to the window and looked down into the patio; far below, Greg had turned on the bubbles for the hot tub, and was adding something to the water. She called down to him. “Hey!” 

“Hey yourself. Thought we’d get in a soak before dinner, since some of us worked pretty _hard_ lady!” 

“Sounds great! I’ll be down with some towels.” 

She took her time, rounding up three good bath sheets, and slithered into the first bikini she found; the pink one with the ties on the hips. Starr was grateful she’d waxed her legs, and made her way downstairs. Once on the patio, she held the stack of towels in front of her, and looked at the two men already in the tub. 

_My men,_ she grinned to herself, liking the sound of it. Greg was lounging in one corner, arms resting on the side of the tub, his expression blissed out. Nick was in the opposite corner, rubbing the back of his neck, leaving water droplets along the ridge of muscle there. Starr wanted to kiss them away. With that happy image in mind, she strode over and set the towels on the glass patio table. 

Greg whistled. “Okay this is a long shot, but I’m guessing you have a thing for the color pink, don’t you?” 

“I _love_ pink,” Starr confessed brightly. “It’s cheerful and feminine and romantic.” The last part came out a bit breathlessly as she moved to straddle the side of the tub. One long leg stretched into the water, and she winced. “Hot.” 

"It IS called a hot tub,” Nick pointed out, his expression merry. “Even if it’s ancient.” 

“This isn’t ancient,” Starr protested, “It’s a _classic._ ” 

“Classic piece of junk. Oh the water’s hot enough, but needs more jets,” Nick snorted. Starr didn’t miss the way he watched her climb in, and she felt heat not only outside but inside her. She settled into one of the corners between the boys and sighed. 

“Yes, well after I’ve sunk my millions into this house, I’ll be sure to buy a new hot tub too. Until then, make do, Nick Stokes.” 

He looked over at her, and in the late afternoon light he looked a little flushed now, partially from the tub, but Starr sensed some of it had to so with the setting and company, so she smiled at him. 

“Millions is right. I don’t know if your Aunt Jean was doing you a favor or not by willing you this place,” Greg grumbled, but mildly. He looked up over his shoulder at the house. “Not a total money pit, but—!" 

“Getting there, I know, I know,” Starr sighed. “Still, it’s all mine, and it’s better than being stuck in some apartment. It’s got style, and light, and clean walls now.” 

“Only because you were an evil slave driver,” came Nick’s teasing comment. “I never knew a woman could honestly _hate_ wallpaper the way you do.” 

I don’t _hate_ it, I just know that the walls would look better if they weren’t covered up with something that doesn’t look right on them. If they can just be themselves without artificiality . . . “ She trailed off, blushing a bit by the intensity of Nick’s gaze at her. “Okay, that sounded deeper than it was supposed to, but I happen to think it’s true.” 

Greg smiled at her; one of his intense and sweet ones. “Yes. So . . . is it time to talk yet?” 

“Greg!” She spluttered a bit, catching the gleam of heat in his dark eyes. He kept his gaze on her, and out of the corner of her eye she noted that Nick was smirking slightly, not saying anything, but definitely paying attention. 

Starr took a deep breath. “Okay, as long as you two don’t get all freaked or weird or uncomfortable. Just let me say what I’ve been trying to say for . . . well, for a really long time, okay?” 

Both Greg and Nick watched her silently and she laughed, self-consciously at their dual scrutiny. “You’re not making this easy!" 

“Neither are you,” Greg replied in a serious voice. “But we’re here.” 

That seemed to steady her, and Starr shot him a quick, grateful look. Starr stretched out one foot, flexing it a bit just above the bubbles in front of her and spoke slowly. “Okay. Ever since I met you guys, I’ve wanted you both. That’s _never_ happened to me before. I’m not casual about who I get serious with, and you both know the biggest reason why. Life is complicated and confusing enough just dealing with people _one_ at a time.” 

“Amen,” Greg murmured. 

Starr smiled and continued. “But the two of you—you’re everything I want, in _two_ amazing guys. You’re both funny, and smart—Lord are the two of you smart! You each have wonderful personalities, and great bodies, and you both have been through hell and lived to tell about it. Nick," she looked at him. “I love you because you’re Texan, and hardworking and have the softest heart. And you, Greg—you’re wise and patient and know me so damned well. How could I love one of you and not the other?” 

Neither man said anything, and the hot tub chugged on, churning foam and bubbles around them. Starr sighed, lifting her chin. 

“So I thought, who says I can only have one? There’s no rule that says love can’t be . . . expanded. God knows I’ve got the . . . drive. The easiest thing in the world for me would be to make the both of you happy. But . . . .” She hesitated. 

Nick nodded to her. “But?” 

“But it’s not up to me. At least by myself. I can’t _make_ you guys love me. It’s got to come from you, otherwise, it’s no go.” 


	4. Chapter 4

Nick was damned glad that most of him was under the water, and that the heat was keeping him from shivering. He wasn’t cold; the shivers weren’t about temperature, and he knew it.

The whole conversation had just taken a slightly surreal tone, and he kept wondering if it was actually happening or not. Sometimes, in stressful moments, Nick had to bite his tongue just to make sure he was awake and not asleep, dreaming.

He never had to do reality checks like that before Nigel Crane.

He had to do them a _lot_ after Kelly Gordon, but this was the first time in weeks, and Nick let his teeth close on the tip of his tongue. 

The pain felt good, and he drew in a breath, words pushing out of his mouth before he could stop them. “You’re talking about sex, right?”

Starr flinched a little, and Nick rushed on, realizing his blunder. “As part of it, I mean. Romance on, uh, all the levels.”

Greg was shooting him a ‘brilliant _move,_ ’ look, but Nick ignored it, keeping his attention on Starr. That wasn’t hard, considering how good she looked in the bikini, her hair pinned up to keep it dry. He loved the slope of her chest, and the little drops of water glittering like diamonds along her cleavage.

Sullen desire flared through him, stoked on by the memory of kisses.

“We’ve already got more happening between us than just body attraction,” Starr told him softly, turning her big brown eyes on him. 

Nick nodded, flushing. “Well yeah, but . . . I’ve never done this kind of sharing, long term.”

“Me neither,” Greg quietly volunteered, “Fantasies aside.”

That brought a grin, and Nick relaxed a little, appreciating Greg’s honesty. Ever since the conversation of the night before, Nick had been thinking and rethinking the same thoughts, still trying to accept the simple premise Greg had laid out to him.

The Starr part wasn’t a problem. No, he was good to go on that front, absolutely—the kisses had sealed his fate on that one. 

Even the sharing . . . Nick hadn’t done that before, but if there was anyone out there he’d be okay with on something like this, it was Greg. Greg was generous and tactful, and God he’d come a long way in just a few years. Sure it would be weird at first—wasn’t everything that was new? But Nick was pretty sure it was going to be that way for all three of them.

No, the issue that nagged at him was that third leg of the triangle, so to speak. The unmentioned aspect of him and Greg as carnal partners was the part that Nick wasn’t sure about. The more-than-just-buddies part.

Hell.

He wasn’t gay, and he wasn’t going to be able to fake that.

So the issue seemed to be that having Starr meant having Greg too, and _that_ could be a problem.

Nick spoke up, his words fast. “I’mnotgay.”

Starr and Greg looked at him for a stunned second, and when Nick risked looking back, he could see the beginnings of grins on both their faces. Part of him wanted to laugh, but the other more urgent part pressed on. “Damn it, that didn’t sound right. All I’m saying is that I _get_ that this is all new and different, and hell I’m willing to go with the flow and see what happens.”

Nick took a breath and kept going. “You two . . . you know me better than anyone else. You’ve been there, and taken care of me, and there isn’t anybody I’d trust more. And I’m good with even the sharing part, but all my life I’ve loved girls, not guys. I can kiss you Starr, but I don’t know about . . . Greg.”

Greg laughed. “Is _that_ what’s got your boxers in a knot, dude?”

“Well . . . yeah,” Nick admitted, deflated. “Threeway does generally mean three ways, right?”

“Generally yes, but the beauty of polyandrous love is that it’s pretty damned flexible.”

“Polyandrous?” Starr giggled. “Wait, let me guess—that’s a Grissom word, right?” 

Greg nodded, and spoke again. “Hang around him long enough and you start picking things up. Anyway, my point is that you don’t have to worry about a you and me connection, Nick. Nothing says that’s got to be a part of this.” He looked serious, his big brown eyes nearly boring into him.

“Oh.” Nick managed, feeling an odd twist in his stomach. He tried to tell himself it was relief, but . . . 

“I’m getting pruny,” Starr observed, studying her fingertips. “Come on, let’s eat and see what’s on TV.”

Nick watched her climb out, his gaze on the curve of her hip, and the cling of her bikini bottom, wet enough to show the definition of each apple cheek. He wanted to reach over and tug the fabric down, to lick the dampness out of the dimples along the base of her spine.

He wanted not to think about kissing Greg.

*** *** *** 

The only show they could all agree on was Magnum, PI, so they settled in on Starr’s bed watching the show on the TV and VCR she had on the rolling cart just beyond the foot of the bed. Nick took the left side and Greg the right, with Starr happily in the middle, all of them stretched out and comfortable under the covers and on the pillows. She watched the show with only minimum concentration, preferring to bask in the warmth of two close bodies.

Dinner had been great; barbeque and a few beers. There was plenty left over for tomorrow, and Starr had made sure that everyone had enough. Discussion had been light—mostly about the next day’s work on the walls—but there was a new warmth between them now, and Starr was delighted when she was gently hugged and caressed by both Greg and Nick as she did the dishes.

Clearly they were going to make the effort, and that thrilled her. Not just for the physical delight, which she knew would be considerable, but also because it meant her instincts about them were right. Both Nick and Greg _needed_ her, and that made her nurturing heart sing.

Gently, she wriggled a little in her happiness, and next to her, Greg laughed. “Quit shaking the mattress!"

“Oh quit fussing. If you’re cold, scoot closer," she ordered and settled her back against the headboard. Obligingly Greg cuddled against her side, one arm under her pillow, the other over the covers. Nick moved in as well, waving his free hand towards the screen. “What do you think of his mustache?”

Starr considered it. “Well, on Selleck it looks good. He’s got the right sort of eyebrows to balance it out. What do you think, Greg?”

“Eh. Some guys can wear them, some guys can’t. I tried to grow one once, and my grandma kept giving me spitshines, trying to wipe it off.”

“Spitshines?” Starr asked curiously. Greg laughed.

“You know, when your mom or aunt or grandma wets her fingers with spit and tries to clean your face—"

“Ew,” she replied, laughing.

On the other side of her, Nick made an affirmative sound, adding, “Big sisters too, especially right before pictures.” He kept looking at the screen. “I could grow one again.”

“You look like a porn star when you do," Greg warned sleepily. ‘And you _know_ Cath or Hodges will say so. Repeatedly.”

“I can handle them,” Nick replied, confidently. “What do you say, Starr?”

She turned and rubbed her nose with his, feeling impish. “Can’t tell until I see it, stud. Give it a shot.”

“You’re on,” he murmured softly, his eyes closing as he brushed his mouth against hers. Regretfully she pulled away after several long seconds and sighed, reaching for the remote and turning the TV off.

“We need to sleep. We’ve got another long day ahead of us," Starr pointed out. “And the sooner we find out if the three of us can share a bed, the better.”

They were all quiet for a moment, and then Greg spoke up. “Goodnight, John-Boy.”

The other two burst out laughing; Nick reached for the beside lamp and turned it off; the room went dark and for a while there were the usual tossing and turning, creaks and sighs of people settling down into sleep. Starr shifted, curling around Greg’s side, feeling Nick’s arm around her waist, and although she wanted to touch and stroke, she held back and let herself gradually drift off to sleep.

*** *** ***

Greg woke up slowly, enjoying the gradual rise of awareness. He was warm—comfortably so—and he knew it was his second day off, so there was no rush to rise . . . at least until Starr got everyone up . . . 

Speaking of which, he grinned to himself. Rolling over, he snuggled up against the elegant back and rounded little bottom so conveniently close, rubbing himself shamelessly against her. There would be time enough for consummation, Greg knew, and he was looking forward to it, but in the meanwhile, frottage could be a nice alternative.

Starr made a little grumbly sound, but he gently ran his hand down her side and hip, stroking her soothingly as he continued to press closer. “Mmmmmmmmm----" he moaned very softly along the back of her neck. “I know what I want for breakfast."

“Glazed buns,” Starr mumbled dryly, but she pressed back against him, and he liked that. Greg nibbled, enjoying the taste of her skin.

“With sausage," he growled playfully, just to make her laugh. She did, trying to suppress it, but Greg felt the vibrations, which added another sensual dimension to his rubbing. 

“Greg, you are _pushing_ it," she told him, but with a little excitement in her voice. He felt himself swell a bit more in response.

“I’m not built for celibacy," he hissed. A voice from the other side of Starr interrupted him.

“ _Or_ patience. Or quiet,” Nick grumbled. “Some of us were still trying to sleep, you know.”

“If you were where _I_ am, doing what _I’m_ doing," Greg taunted slightly. That was enough to make both Starr and Nick pounce; suddenly the covers flew and a tangle of arms and legs twisted across the mattress as all three of them wrestled.

Throw pillows were thrown, sheets were untucked and by the time Starr breathlessly called for a truce, the three of them were splayed out across the mattress, warm, entangled and completely without remorse. Greg had one arm over his eyes and the other along Starr’s bare stomach while Nick was halfway under Starr, his grip secure on her hips.

“Give up?” he demanded. 

Starr wriggled a little, defiantly, and Nick gave a pleasurable groan.

“Donnnn’t—" he warned in a thick voice that urged her on. She laughed and did it again as Greg rolled over and stroked her stomach.

“Starr, I will give you twenty bucks if you make him blow his wad.”

“Twenty whole bucks, huh?” she giggled. “My lap dances aren’t _that_ cheap!”

“I’ll throw in a massage, two nights on dishes and my Cellophane Bones download."

“Oooh tempting,” Starr pretended to consider this, all the while wriggling her butt against the thin cloth of Nick’s boxers under her. Greg could see by Nick’s chagrined but lustful expression that the man was getting close to a tipping point.

“He _wants_ youuuu—“ Greg murmured salaciously, rubbing his hand along Starr’s flat stomach, letting his touch move up under her breasts. “He’s been hot for your gorgeous ass for a long time, babe."

“Greg, shut UP--” Nick ordered, caught between laughing and embarrassment. “You’ve wanted it TOO!"

“You bet,” Greg agreed, shifting close enough. “And your bouncy chest and your sexy mouth . . ."

“Naughty!” Starr laughed, languidly grinding back against Nick. She reached one hand behind her to slide into the waistband of his shorts and grip his bare hip while her other hand reached for Greg’s fingers, guiding them up along the proud slope of her breast.

Suddenly the friendly little game intensified, and Greg felt his pulse gallop. It was one thing to touch her stomach, but as his fingertips slid over the warm satin of her breast they reached the stiff, aroused nipple capping it.

At his touch, Starr gave a low moan; a woman in pleasure. Greg grunted, rocking forward, rubbing himself against her bare thigh, the flannel of his pajama bottoms a flimsy barrier as the heat of her skin warmed his through the cloth. Nick was forgotten in the flare of heat, friction and desire, and for long, wild moments there were no words, only groans and creaks from the three of them along the bed.

The creaking intensified.

Then Starr’s wordless cry rose in a sultry sob, and Nick’s low gasp echoed under it; the sounds were enough to drive Greg forward, coming blindly as sweet pleasure flared through his spine and out his throbbing shaft.

He clung to Starr, stunned. Shamed. Exhilarated.

Nobody said anything for long moments that seemed to stretch on. Then Starr took in a deep breath, and her hands moved. Greg felt the one over his lightly stroking the back of his hand; she lifted her head and looked over at him, her smile tremulous. “Oh Goddddd I was a _bad_ girl.”

That broke the silence, and Greg laughed, turning his hand to catch hers, to weave his fingers with hers. “The baddest. This is sexy and messy at the same time. Nick? You okay?”

“Oh man, Greg. Do we have to _talk_ about it?” came the embarrassed grumble. Starr snorted, and shifted herself, moving off of Nick and curling to his side while Greg shifted, encountering her wet panties.

“Ew,” he commented.

Starr shot him a glance “Oh like _you’re_ one to talk. Your jizz is on my thigh.”

“Ew,” Nick responded, and behind Starr, Greg snorted.

“Okay, I’m officially nominating this morning for Most Embarrassing Post Sex Moment."

“Shut up, Greg,” both Nick and Starr said at the same time. He laughed again, but said nothing. He watched Starr rise up on one elbow to look at Nick. Her hair hung down, and her words were too low for Greg to hear, but they made Nick smile. She dipped down quickly to kiss him, then pulled away again, turning to him.

“You owe me a _lot_ of goodies, Sand man!"

*** *** *** 

Nick was still a little trembly. He’d enjoyed the friction—God had he _ever_ \--and he understood the easy thrill of physical release. Excited dick + consistent erotic rubbing = orgasm . . . it was a pretty standard recipe. The fact that the rubbing had been all over the satiny ass of the woman he’d been fantasizing about for nearly half a year now was the big bonus in anyone’s book. 

He understood now why lap dances had appeal, oh yes. 

It was the other aspects that had him fairly quiet for the moment. The memory of all those sounds . . . the unmistakable creaking of the bed, of his own muffled groans. Jesus, of Starr AND Greg, breathing hard, crying out--- _that_ had been enough to made him go through a full-body shudder. 

It wasn’t perverted; it had felt . . . right, somehow. To be holding Starr and listening to her; to know she was loving him and loving Greg, bringing them both to her . . . 

Nick sighed. He’d never been good at putting things into words, but he knew feelings, and these were good. There was comfort and security and yeah, love here. 

“So now comes shower time, right?” he heard Greg demand. Next to him, Starr drew in a breath. 

“Oh I don’t know, Greg—my bathroom’s kind of little, and I’m not sure about you know . . . being . . . looked at,” she trailed off uncertainly. 

Nick turned his face to her. Starr’s hair was tangled, and her complexion was pale. He reached over sliding an arm around her stomach in a reassuring manner. “Um, Starr? We’re going to have to see you as _some_ point. Now we’ve all just shared a pretty intimate moment, and I can’t say how Greg feels, but if I’m part of this, then now’s the time to get honest.” 

Brave talk; he hoped his voice hadn’t been too shaky. Starr’s brown eyes held his gaze and she seemed to draw some sort of courage from him. She blinked a little, and Nick was grateful that somehow Greg had picked up the cue that it was time for him to stay quiet. 

“God. I’ve asked a lot of you two, haven’t I? And you’re doing it . . . this is hard. I didn’t think it would be, but it is,” she told him gently. Rising up, she scooted off the end of the bed, pushed the TV out of the way and stood, turning around to face him and Greg. Starr pulled her tee-shirt off, tossing it away, and the unexpected beauty of her toplessness made Nick chuff a little. 

She looked down at her own breasts. 

“Um . . . here they are,” Starr announced with wry amusement, crossing her arms under them in a supportive and yet seductive manner. “And they’re all mine—not many of us can claim that, but I can.” 

Nick wasn’t sure what to say; personally, he wanted to applaud, since he knew that was what you did for works of art. Parts of him were already working on a standing ovation, that much was certain. He smiled and gave nod, leading with his chin. “And they’re . . . fabulous. You have no idea how many times I’ve thought of them, and you. Like this.” 

“Ohhhhyeahhhhh,” came Greg’s sighed and heartfelt agreement. “Waaaaannnnnt.” 

That made Starr blush, and the lovely pink didn’t stop at her cheeks. She twisted shyly, an embarrassed grin on her face. “Geez, Greg, they’re just . . . you know, tits.” 

“Nnnuh _Uhn!_ ” came his denial. “They’re _your_ tits, and . . . . I’m _looking_ at them!” 

The sheer delight and foolishness of that comment made Nick laugh. Starr got pinker, and squirmed a little, her chin going up and making the lines of her body all the more beautiful in the light. “Did more than look just a little while ago," she reminded him weakly. 

Nick climbed out of bed and moved slowly. He closed his eyes for a moment, then resolutely began to slip out of his wet boxers, working hard not to think about what he was doing, which has difficult, because it was a strange name even to him. 

Commitment. 

This kind of exposure was commitment, plain and simple. He straightened up, definitely embarrassed, but from the look in Starr’s eyes it was damned well worth it. Her big-eyed gaze drank him in, and she swallowed, making a soft little “oohhhhh!" in the back of her throat. 

Nick stepped closer, and when she put her arms around him it was good. 


	5. Chapter 5

Starr wasn’t a religious girl per se; she’d grown up a good Methodist and still stopped into church on holidays, but nothing in all those formative years had prepared her for the sweet and tender worship that Greg and Nick bestowed on her that morning.

They’d treated her like . . . well, like a goddess. Gotten the shower the right temperature, then helped her out of the rest of her clothes, and climbed in with her behind the curtain and into a steamy, dreamy place. With one man on each side, she’d felt secure. 

They soaped her, big hands passing the bar between them, fingers gliding over her skin in long loving strokes, touching to ignite little pangs of desire all over her body until her knees threatened to give out. The soft murmurs, the kisses, the heat rising between the three of them until they were all breathing hard again.

Starr took them back to the bed, damp and eager, and clung to Greg, raking his wet hair with her fingers, exulting in his lean, strong form. He smiled at her, a look filled with so much love and awe that she thought her heart would break because it couldn’t hold everything she was feeling.

And Nick was there, stroking her shoulder, nuzzling her and murmuring soft little wordless sounds as he kissed her neck. Somehow between him and Greg there was something unspoken but clear; a nod and then Greg was in her arms, kissing her senseless, strong and hungry for her.

She showed them herself, taught them about lube and how to use it, groaned with wild pleasure when Greg thrust into her for the first time. The heat of him, thick and hot had her gasping, and when she shifted her hips, the push of his shaft against that darkly erotic place deep within her made her whimper with a lust that drove her a little mad. She wrapped her legs around Greg’s waist, clawed his back, urged him deeper, harder, ohh God yes, harder honey, and Greg did, moving with just enough control to drive her crazy. 

Starr remembered coming; when Greg dropped his hot mouth to her nipples, the flare of pleasure surged through her body, electrifying it in a spasm of incandescent joy that freed her from reality for a second or two, and left her to drift back down into consciousness, utterly replete, sticky and thrilled. Weakly she looked around and saw Nick, wide-eyed and almost shaking, his breath searing against her shoulder.

She reached for him, her fingers encircling his erection, caressing it happily, and Nick watched her stroke him, his body arching against her fingers, moving with her sliding grip. It didn’t take long; the feel of Nick’s cock pulsing against her palm along with the bruising kiss he blindly pressed to her mouth thrilled her.

Again the three of them lay quietly on the bed, touching and not talking, too caught up in this exciting private world of their own, cocooned by the pillows and each other. Gradually though, Starr lightly pushed Greg, who woke up from his daze and gently rolled off of her, murmuring apologies and thanks all in the same soft, happy mumble. Starr kissed him, and shifted a little, looking up at the ceiling, one arm around each man.

She was a tiny bit sore, but happily so, aware that Greg had been generous both in size and capacity. Another shower was in the immediate future, and food too—checking the clock Starr laughed to see that it was nearly eleven thirty.

As if on cue, Greg’s stomach growled.

“I think we need breakfast,” Starr announced. “Or brunch at least. Who wants omelets?”

“Cheese. With some of the barbeque ham in them, and some toast,” Nick mumbled. “And coffee.”

“Is that _all_ to your order, or is there more, my darling?” Starr laughed, rising up on one elbow. She knew she looked a mess, but God she felt good.

“I’ll help, just let me sleep for five minutes more—“ Nick pleaded, his voice muffled by a pillow. Starr bent to kiss his temple, then carefully slid her way off the end of the bed. She grabbed her silk robe from the bathroom door, washed her face and hands, then headed for the kitchen, humming.

Time to feed her men.

*** *** ***

For the second time that morning Greg let himself wake up slowly, but this time was infinitely more satisfying. He thought back to the hour before, and even though he’d had the orgasm to end all orgasms, brought to gushing fruition in the omg _TIGHT_ little paradise between Starr’s sleek thighs—

He was starting to get horny again. Greg laughed at himself, and ran a hand over his face, wondering if he needed to shave. A few bristles, but nothing that couldn’t wait . . . just like the rest of him, he knew smugly. It felt good to be loved. To love and be loved. Greg looked over to the other side of the bed, where Nick lay snoring softly, and watched him for a moment.

Nick was the one who took the first step. Nicholas Stokes. Un-believable, in Greg’s view, but pretty damned amazing all the same. To think a straight, traditional good ole boy from Texas would be the first to strip down . . . Clearly life still had a few surprises, Greg smiled.

He got up and wandered to the shower, rinsed off and still in a towel headed for his room, looking for something to wear. By the time Greg was dressed, the tantalizing scent of hot omelets was drifting by, and he made a beeline to the kitchen. Starr grinned at him from behind the counter, her hair back in a loose ponytail. She slid a plate in front of him. Greg caught her wrist and pulled her hand up, kissing the palm. “Love you,” he told her.

Starr blushed. “The feeling is mutual, Sugar. Is Nick up yet?”

“Don’t think so—he was asleep when I got dressed. Is there any Tabasco?” he replied, using the edge of his fork to cut into the fluffy omelet. Starr turned to a cabinet beside the stove and fished a little bottle out, handing it over. Greg murmured his thanks.

“Hmmm. I’m going to go wake him—he needs some protein too," she announced and slipped out. Greg nodded, busy with his breakfast.

He’d made his way through half of his breakfast before Nick came in, Starr trailing him, “before Greg eats them all,” She finished.

“There’s plenty left,” Greg protested.

Nick headed for the coffeemaker and poured a cup, then took a deep sip, letting it fortify him. He looked up to see both Starr and Greg watching him, and the blush that rose up across his face made them grin. “What?”

“Nothing. You’re just incredibly cute when you’re all sexed down,” Starr assured him.

This made Nick squirm, and he bowed his head for a moment. “Starr---" he warned softly. “Come on—!"

“You did,” she teased, and stepped to the stove to fill up a plate for him.

Nick took it, and breathed in the heavenly scent of eggs, cheese and ham; his expression shifted to something blissful. Greg nodded. “Tastes good too.”

They ate, quietly at first, and then with little comments here and there, plans for the day, household concerns, easy small talk. Under it though were warm glances and shy smiles that Greg was glad to see. Everyone was making an effort, and that made things easier.

As for himself, Greg felt, well . . . alive. Connected in more ways than one. Good in a way he hadn’t in a long, long time. This wasn’t all about the sex, either, he admitted to himself, although the sex was definitely not to be dismissed. No, this three part relationship was still so new that Greg found he didn’t want to examine it too closely, and risk messing it up. He finished his coffee and spoke up. “So—we’ll finish up the wallpaper today—is that the plan?”

Starr looked thoughtful. “We’ve only got the steamer for two days, so yeah. I’d like to finish _your_ room, Greg, and go back over that really stubborn panel by the garage door. After that the steamer goes back, and anything still on the walls I’ll just soak off and scrape, when I have the time.”

“We’ll help too—that ladder’s not very stable,” Nick said.

*** *** ***

It was a strange day, he reflected later. Things were normal; the breakfast, the work, the banter and easy conversation, but under it all was the unforgettable truth of things now. Nick wasn’t sure how the other two felt, but for him it was still like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing you were going to fly, but still not quite believing it.

The getting was better than the wanting, but the wanting had been safer, Nick thought. With the wanting there had been no risk. He could want and never put his heart or anything else on the line. Now that he had, parts of him were waiting for something bad to happen.

Starr would tell them it was all a mistake; she didn’t want them in _that_ kind of a relationship; she’d cry and Nick felt his stomach tighten because if Starr cried, damn it, he probably would too. 

He’d learned about crying in those hellish hours underground, and Nick knew out of all the injuries he’d sustained from that ordeal, the inability to push emotion away anymore was a backhanded blessing. Sure it left him more vulnerable to some cases, but it also meant he could stop the bad feelings from building up and driving him crazy.

Pain, Nick realized, wasn’t always the only indication of hurt.

At the moment though, the sight of Starr leaning against a half-steamed wall and chugging on a bottle of Diet Coke while the sunlight glinted on her hair made him smile, and he moved closer, just appreciating the view.

“You okay, Nick?” she asked him gently, and he caught all the nuances in her tone as she studied his face carefully. He wanted to look away, but instead forced himself to keep his eyes on hers.

“Still . . . processing,” he admitted with a little laugh. “Trying to get a hold on something that doesn’t have any handles.”

She nodded, and her smile had a cautious edge to it. “I hear you, sweetheart. I’m right there too.”

That made him laugh, and Nick took the soda from her, asking wordlessly for a swig. She nodded, and he chugged a good mouthful down, letting the bite of the carbonation hit his palate. When Nick handed it back, Starr grinned. “Kiss me.”

“Yes ma’am,” he replied huskily, and moved to do it. A rush of desire flared through his stomach, and when his mouth met Starr’s Nick gave in to the drive. He put his arms out, boxing her in against the wall and kissed her warmly, tasting the soda along with the sweet flavor of Starr herself.

Everything else faded away, and Nick loved that too; this easy give and take, when all that mattered was the next kiss, and how good it was going to be. She wrapped her arms around him, and moaned softly; the sound drove Nick against Starr, pinning her to the wall with his frame.

Some dim little part of himself that still had objectivity wished all of life could be just this sweet and simple. He kissed Starr again; staying lost in the moment for a while, then pulled back and sighed.

She smiled, reaching up to stroke his cheek. “Is that regret I hear?”

“No way. Just overloading on a good thing here,” he admitted. “I’m sort of still waiting for . . . “

“ . . . for the big mess-up, yeah,” Starr nodded. “I know what you mean. It’s like things are going SO good that something’s bound to screw up.”

“Exactly,” Nick nodded, a little relieved that she understood. “I’m not used to getting what I want.”

“Or the people that I want,” Starr chuckled, nuzzling his chin. “I can agree with you there.”

Nick smiled at her. “You really do want _both_ of us?”

She pulled him closer. “God, Nick. Yes.”

 

*** *** ***

Their consummation came later that day, after Greg had been called in to lend a hand with Swing on a triple homicide over near Lake Meade. He’d left them, winking, and Starr felt a sense of relief at that little sign. Whatever else Greg was—and there were so many good things in that number—he was caring too, and knew Nick deserved some one on one comfort.

It amazed her, how well Greg knew Nick, and how Nick didn’t seem to realize it. 

In any case, they’d taken the last of the old wall paper down to the trash, and returned the steamer to the shop then came home with boxes of Chinese food for a late lunch. Things might have stayed chaste if Starr hadn’t spilled Kung Pao down her shirt, which necessitated taking it off, and from there it was only a matter of hungry looks, urgent kisses, and a quick trip into Nick’s bedroom.

He had lube, tucked away in a small zippered pouch in his nightstand, along with condoms. Starr wondered how old they were, but she stopped wondering when he handed her the bottle, his fingers unsteady. They were both sprawled on his bed, half undressed and unable to stop kissing; Starr took the little container and gave a happy sigh, flipping the cap open. “Oh yes, this will make things much nicer!"

“Starr—I’m not used to . . . going without a rubber,” Nick confessed softly. Her hands were already on his cock, stroking it lazily, the slickness making soft wet sounds. She licked him under his chin.

“Do you want one?” she offered gently. She was a little hurt, but was going to be understanding if it killed her. Considering the handful she had, it would be a hell of a way to go, too.

“No!” he blurted, his eyelids fluttering a little as he grunted with pleasure. “No, I just haven’t done it bare in a long time. I want to last!"

She nodded. “Everything’s gonna be fine. God I _want_ you—“

Nick groaned a little, and softly pushed her onto her back, then knelt between her thighs and gently guided himself forward. Starr felt the snug heat of her cleft stretching around his eager shaft, and she knew he wouldn’t last, not with her incredible squeeze along his cock. Nick thrust, she could tell he was fighting the urge to plow deeply into her, and yet she urged him on, her long legs folding around him in hungry welcome as she cried out his name.

He was right; it was quick but sweet, and Starr felt him surge into her, the scalding heat enough to make her gasp. She was close, and carefully she guided Nick’s mouth to her chest, urging him to suck. Waves of beautiful bliss wracked her frame as he did, eagerly. When Starr finally slumped a little against the now damp pillow under her, she opened her eyes to see Nick looking down at her, his smile crooked, but his dark eyes bright. She gave a deeply satisfied sigh.

“Are you . . . okay?” he asked with a hint of anxiousness. Starr felt a surge in her chest, and reached up to lightly play with his hair.

“Honey, I am _better_ than okay. I’m a big ol’ puddle of blissssssss,” she laughed. “Gawwwd. Between you and Greg I think I can give up dilation now.”

That made him laugh, a little uncertainly, and Starr caught Nick’s face in her hands and kissed him. “Are _you_ okay?”

“Yeah. Oh yeah. Come on, Starr--two orgasms in one day—I’d call that a damned good weekend,” he smiled, and shifted off of her.

They lay side by side, arms around each other for a long while, making soft sounds and touching each other, quiet; happy. When the light began to fade outside the windows, Starr reluctantly got up, fishing her clothes up again. Nick took her shirt, grinning. “This needs washing, remember?”

“That means I’ll have to walk around in my bra!”

“Maybe we’d better wash that too," he was quick to offer.

“Oh no you don’t!" Starr growled back playfully, darting out of his room, clutching her remaining clothing. “I’m not going to cater to your evil wishes, Nick Stokes.”

“Too late!” She heard him call out to her cheerfully, and she laughed all the way to her room.

*** *** *** 

Greg was the one who remembered, and although Nick wanted to do it over the phone, there was the little matter of signatures. Human Resources wasn’t the most efficient office, and neither man wanted to risk a delayed paycheck or missing a re-certification notification, so on Monday afternoon they made their way to the downtown offices, yawning and annoyed, to change their addresses officially.

Their mutual annoyance had to do with Starr, whom they had left behind at home sprawled on the big bed. She’d gloated a bit over being able to sleep in, lording it over them until Greg reminded her that she’d agreed to cover the Ackerman trial, which was going to take up the better part of the upcoming week.

That had taken some of the smirk out of her, although she’d defiantly burrowed down into the pillows and waggled her ass at them both as they left. It had been a taunt, and Greg was amused at how the image still stood in his mind. A definite rump taunt.

Next to him, Nick checked the building directory and punched the button for the elevator. “You think they have coffee?”

“At three in the afternoon?” Greg shrugged. “Maybe.”

They stepped into the empty car and rode up; Nick glanced at Greg and gave a shake of his head. “You _know_ what people are going to think, don’t you?”

“That I bagged a hottie?” Greg replied, smirking. “Or more likely, YOU did.”

Nick rolled his eyes, but he was grinning. “Sure, laugh it up, but I’m telling you, people are going to notice.”

Greg looked at Nick, his gaze serious. “I know. It doesn’t bother me, but I knew it probably would bother you. If you want, we could do this one at a time a week apart.”

Nick hesitated, and then shook his head. “No. I’m not gonna worry about it. Life’s too short to care about what HR thinks.”

“That’s the ticket,” Greg agreed, feeling inwardly relieved at Nick’s words. They stepped off on the third floor, and made they way through the glass doors to the receptionist there.

She was a lean African-American woman with a nametag that read Blanche Patrick, and looking over the top of her reading glasses, she smiled at the pair of them. “Hello, how can I help you?”

“We’re here to file a change of address,” Nick told her with a smile.

Blanche nodded, and fished a few half-sheets of paper from some file behind her desk, pushing them over the countertop. “All right then. I need you to fill these out and sign them at the bottom . . . do you each have direct deposit?”

“ _I_ do,” Greg murmured, but Nick shook his head. Blanche clucked at him, her smile widening.

“Twentieth century, young man—still, then it’s a good thing you’re getting the paperwork in. Have you notified your healthcare providers?”

Greg and Nick exchanged quick, startled glances, making Blanche laugh again. “Let me guess, haven’t contacted the DMV yet either?”

More sheepish looks, and Blanche clucked a little. “Lord, gentlemen, you’d think you never moved before! All right, let’s get you squared away then and draw up a little checklist . . ."

After several minutes, the new address had been applied to everything HR could handle—paychecks, healthcare, insurance and emergency contacts—and Blanche had drawn up a list of other places for them. “DMV certainly, and your utilities of course . . . relatives and friends, and your pharmacy,"

“Pharmacy?” Greg asked, a little overwhelmed. Blanche nodded. 

“Oh yes, honey, you’d be surprised how persnickety some of them can be about refilling a prescription if your address doesn’t match their records.” Blanche rolled her eyes. “They gave my nephew and his partner Derrick a hard time about that when _they _moved. Nobody needs that sort of aggravation.”__

__Nick moved to open his mouth and hesitated. Blanche went on, adding something else to the list. “Oh yes! Magazine subscriptions too—no point in paying for your TV Guide if it’s not getting to your new house, right?”_ _

__Greg nodded. “Right. And I’d hate to miss even one issue of Maxim.”_ _

__Blanche shot him a merry look over the top of her glasses again. “You behave—you got a good thing going here, with me helping you. Don’t blow it now.”_ _

__“Yes ma’am,” he replied with a grin. Nick was finishing a few more signatures, and politely thanked Blanche when he was done._ _

__She patted the back of his hand and smiled at him. “No problem; that’s what we’re here for. The Post Office has change of address cards in their lobby, but you can leave a note on your mailbox and your carrier will leave you a stack too. Now you gentlemen go have a good day, you hear?”_ _

__They walked out; Greg took note of Nick’s expression, and felt a glimmer of unease. Nick wasn’t smiling; if anything he looked a little lost in thought, and Greg hoped it wasn’t doubt at this stage in the game. Not after their weekend with Starr between them, and all that it had meant._ _

__“Greg . . . “ Nick commented softly as he pushed the button for the elevator, “She thought we were gay . . . and . . . . it didn’t matter.”_ _

__“It . . . didn’t matter?” Greg echoed carefully, turning to look at him. Nick was still gazing off, concentrating. He turned suddenly and held Greg’s glance, his eyes deep and serious._ _

__“Yeah. It didn’t matter to her. She just assumed, and accepted it. No big.”_ _

__“Welll . . ." Greg replied slowly, cautiously. “For a lot of people it isn’t. Not everybody of course, but,"_ _

__“It’s just sort of unexpected, I guess,” Nick told him. “And . . . cool. Not being mistaken for gay, but being accepted.”_ _

__Greg followed him into the waiting elevator. “You could have spoken up, you know. Set her straight, so to speak.”_ _

__Nick grinned, and punched Greg’s shoulder. “Yeah, well so could you, Mr. Maxim.”_ _

__Greg rubbed his arm, looking hurt. “Watch it—you leave a bruise and I’m telling Starr.”_ _

__“Aw man, she would have punched you too,” Nick pointed out, but he looked slightly worried, and Greg saw his opportunity._ _

__“She’d tell you to be nicer, and then she’d get me an ice pack and some soup and cuddle with me. You know what? Hit me again. Harder.” Greg proffered his arm, grinning._ _

__Nick shook his head, and glanced down at the list in his hand, muttering softly. “Sorry buddy, if you’re going to go for the sympathy play with our honey, it won’t be with my help. Maybe you can get Warrick to punch you.”_ _

__“That would like, _hurt,_ ” Greg protested. “I want to be bruised, not hospitalized!” He followed Nick out of the elevator, amused, relieved, light-hearted; it was amazing how even just one little crisis averted could make it a good day._ _

__Nick laughed. “Yeah, I think we’ve both had enough of that. Think there’s time enough to hit a Mile Chai before we clock in?”_ _


	6. Chapter 6

The next week was weird, Greg decided, but good just the same. That first day, none of them had the courage to bring up what was apparently on all their minds as they lounged together in the hot tub, making slightly forced small talk. By the time the sun was starting to come up, Starr had finally laughed and spoken up. 

“Gawd this is dumb. I’m going to bed, and I don’t want to go alone, so either or both of you want to join me, I would LOVE to cuddle.” She slipped out of the tub and looked over her shoulder provocatively, “or _more._ "

There was no missing the sweet heat in those words, and Greg was glad she’d broken the ice with them. He and Nick stared after her a moment, and then in tandem they both climbed out, shooting each other self-conscious looks until Greg broke into a laugh. “She _totally_ owns us.”

“Yeah—how’d _that_ happen?” Nick agreed. “Was it before the mind-blowing sex, or afterward?”

“Before,” Greg replied. “Waaaaay before. Right around the first time she smiled.” 

They moved into the house quietly, not looking at each other, but Greg sensed Nick’s tension, and inwardly sighed; the sharing was going to take some getting used to for all of them, but clearly Nick was the one who’d need the most help. When they reached the doorway of Starr’s bedroom, she looked up at them and smiled. 

They stared. The only light came from the nightstand lamp as Starr blinked at them and coyly stretched out her bare legs. “Hey there--thought I’d slip into something more comfortable.” 

Her idea of comfortable was a pair of baby pink silk tap panties that rode low on her hips, matched with a top that was one size too small, sweetly squeezing her abundant chest into stunning cleavage. Starr had tied her hair into two pony tails as well, adding a hint of smutty schoolgirl to the entire ensemble. 

Greg was the first to be able to speak, albeit in a wheeze. “I’m too young to have a heart attack, babe.” 

She shifted, looking concerned, and ended up on her hands and knees on the mattress, looking towards them. “Ohhh Greg . . ." 

“That’s not helping," he replied, the wheeze becoming a squeak now as her cleavage strained her top even more. Nick gave a low groan, and shot a sidelong look at Greg. 

“Pink is starting to be my favorite color too,” he admitted in a low voice. “Just don’t tell anybody." 

“My lips are sealed,” Greg replied, then looked at Starr. “Well, at least outside of this room that is.” 

“Mine aren’t,” Starr interjected. “Want me to prove it?” 

It was the perfect invitation; Greg stepped closer and she reached for his hips, pulling him to her and giggling. As she did so, she reached out one hand to Nick. Awkwardly he shuffled towards her, and she drew in a breath patiently. 

“Okay, look—I _know_ it feels weird to do this, but damn it, you are two _wonderful_ studs, and I’m not going to play favorites because you’re _both_ my favorites. When I want you both, I want you BOTH, so if you don’t get those pants off and start touching me Nick Stokes, I’m going to . . . to . . . “ She tried to think of some terrible punishment, but it was difficult as she gently slid Greg’s bathing suit down. “Uh, overfeed your fish!” 

Both men looked at her for a moment, and burst out laughing. 

Greg pounced, tackling her lightly to the mattress, and Nick followed on the other side, moving to blow on her bare stomach and make her shriek with giggles. 

“Oh you SHOW him who’s boss, Starr Jankowitz—stuff his guppies until he begs for mercy, baby!” Greg egged her on, managing to tug her top up. She wriggled, hands deftly undoing whatever of their remaining clothing she could reach and tried to growl, but she sounded like an infuriated puppy. 

“I _mean_ it—fish flakes everywhere!" 

“Terrified,” Nick murmured, pulling her panties down and licking her hip. She swallowed and moaned, long eyelashes fluttering, while Greg tossed the shed clothing off the side of the bed. 

Starr shifted back to her hands and knees over Greg, and lightly lipped the length of his shaft before batting her eyes at him. “I know _exactly_ what you want—“ she announced. 

He lay back, smirking, but with heat in his brown eyes. “And that would be?” 

Starr laughed. “You want me to blow you, and you want to use my ponytails as reins.” 

Greg groaned. “Damn it—busted.” 

Starr glanced over her shoulder; Nick was crawling over her, nuzzling her spine, and making her shiver with pleasure. She rubbed her ass up against him. “Oooh, want you!" 

“Good with it, oh yeahhhh," he rumbled back, rising to his knees behind her. In a cooperative human chain, Greg fished the lube out of the nightstand and passed it to Starr who gave it to Nick before turning back to the man under her. 

She bent forward, her hands on his thighs and slid her mouth warmly over Greg’s cock. Impulsively he reached for her hair; when he lightly gripped her ponytails Starr gave a little moan of approval, and Greg gasped. 

“Okay, that’s hot, even though it’s _so_ wrong,” Nick groaned, staring for a moment. Starr slid one hand back to curl around his warm shaft, and Nick impulsively thrust into her palm. 

Pulling her mouth away for a moment, she sighed. “Ohh Niiick, I’m on all fours and I WANT you—unless you don’t give a damn about your fish or my wicked desires." 

“Shhhh . . ." he replied softly, and opened the bottle of lube. Moving gently, he rubbed his slickened hand along the inside of her thighs. 

Greg wasn’t in any position, emotional or physical to see much of what was going on outside of his own thrills but he felt Starr’s pleasure as it translated into an increase in suction. He tried not to tug too hard on her hair, but watching and feeling her happy slurping was bringing him closer to the brink with every stroke. He gritted his teeth, loving it. 

His orgasm rushed through him, hard, hot and fierce; at the last minute Greg let got of Starr’s ponytails, his hands flying to her shoulders as he gripped them and arched up, groaning. Starr was sweet to the end, stopping to let him savor all the incredible sensations, and gently pulling back several long moments later. Greg panted a little, and raised his tousled head. “Dear Gawwwwd,” he drawled, unconsciously imitating the Texas accents of his lovers, “I . . ." 

He stopped. Starr was now arching her back, her eyes closed, her fingers now on the sheets, grabbing them tightly. Greg watched in fascination as she bounced forward in time with Nick’s thrusts behind her. Delighted, Greg reached down and caught her pretty nipples, rolling them gently in his fingers. 

She wailed in a long cry of pleasure, her plump lips still wet. A flurry of harder thrusts, accompanied by Nick’s own harsh groans and Greg gently caught Starr when she slumped forward over his thighs. 

He wanted to applaud. He wanted to cry. He did neither; instead, Greg let all of them catch their breath, then reached down and began to pull Starr up to him. She crawled limply, and dropped next to Greg, eyes closed, but smiling happily. When Nick stretched out next to her, she rolled to him and hugged him for a long moment. 

Nick spoke first, his voice thick and sated. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” Starr told him, and Greg had chimed in on the ‘welcome’ part. They all smirked a bit, and settled in for a moment, tired but content. 

Starr gave a happy sigh. “I know I should get up and shower, but I don’t have the strength right now.damn it, Nick, you stroked my prostate and _then_ some!” 

There was a pause. 

“You have a . . . prostate?” Greg blurted. “Still?”

“Well yeah,“ Starr replied gently. “And believe me, I’m damned grateful I do! In terms of all my rewired plumbing, it’s sort of a clitoris on the inside instead of the outside and one of the two hot spots for me, you know?” 

“Actually, we, um, don’t know,” Nick spoke up with embarrassment. “I think Greg and I are pretty much still working everything out?” 

Starr raised herself up on her elbows and looked from Nick to Greg, slightly astonished. “You’re serious?” 

“Starr, when we um, first got together, it was pretty much a touching session, not a talking one, remember?” Greg pointed out. “Not that I regret a minute of it.” 

Starr laughed. “Nooo, me neither. Well shoot, I guess I do sort of owe you more than just the quickie version of the Starr Jankowitz story. Lord—do we have any wine in the house? I think I’m going to need some fortification for this.” 

*** *** *** 

They showered, chastely, made a detour to the kitchen, and regrouped in Starr’s bedroom, slipping under the blanket and sheets together. Starr propped her back against the headboard and drew in a deep breath, looking from one man to the other before starting. “Okay. You need to know that I’ve always been . . . female. Even though when I was born, parts of my body weren’t with the program. I’ve always, always _always_ had the brain, emotions and heart of a woman. I just wanted to make that clear.” 

Greg nodded. Nick slipped his hand into Starr’s and squeezed. Encouraged, she went on. “Okay. So I was born in Texas thirty-two years ago as Stanley Arthur Jankowitz, Junior.” She laughed softly. “God, I haven’t thought about that name in decades.” 

“Stanley?” Greg commiserated. “Born in Texas and named Stanley no less—sheesh!” 

“And Junior—I bet that didn’t play too well in Justiceburg,” Nick spoke up softly. Starr nodded. 

“I had a penis, but no testicles. The doctors told my folks that they were probably undescended, and not to worry about it until I was older. Well my daddy wasn’t happy about that, and by the time I turned one, they took me in again, and that’s when they found out I flat out didn’t have any.” 

“Ooohhhh,” Greg grimaced a little. Starr shrugged. 

“Believe me, I didn’t know any different. I grew up, and was a round sort of toddler, and an okay school kid. Kept to myself, did all right in the classroom and on the playground. I was a Stanley, but I wasn’t a sports kid and I wasn’t a brain, just a really good artist. I mostly hid in the background. Things got bad though, when I hit junior high.” 

“Puberty?” Nick asked softly, his tone compassionate. “Oh God. Locker rooms." 

“Yeah,” Starr replied shortly. “And hormones. My problem was I was getting a heavy dose of the wrong ones, according to my daddy and later my doctors. Lots of estrogen flooding my system and all of a sudden when the other guys were getting lip fur and zits and muscles, _I_ was getting hips and boobs.” 

“We love your hips and boobs,” Greg reassured her, his expression serious. He handed her a glass of wine, and another to Nick. Starr took a long sip gratefully. 

“I know you do, baby, and believe me, I’m grateful. But back in nineteen ninety in a bitty conservative town like Justiceburg, I was a snowball that just kept rolling downhill. I got laughed at, tormented, and beaten up on a pretty regular basis. Both boys and girls called me queer, and I got really close to . . . well, to ending it all. I was a boy with a tiny dick, no balls and big tits. Not a pointer, not a setter, as my Aunt Jean used to say.” 

“Crap,” Nick sighed. “I’m so damned sorry for that, Starr. Didn’t you have anyone on your side? Where were your folks?” 

“I had Mama, and Aunt Jean. Both of them knew I was a girl inside, thank God. My mama made me promise not to kill myself, and I’ve kept it, although it was damned hard going for a while.” Starr admitted gruffly. “Worst of it was when I had Cory Maynard begging me to feel my boobs. Christ! Second biggest jock at school, and probably just as confused about his orientation as I was.” 

“Kinda endemic to small towns,” Greg told her, and took a moment to slip his free arm around her. Starr managed a crooked smile and took another long sip of the wine before speaking again. 

“Hell, I am NOT going to get maudlin, okay? Let’s just fast forward a bit to when Mama and Aunt Jean took me to a clinic in Dallas and I met Doctor Maria. She got me into therapy for my head and my hormones. I took my first doses of androgen-blockers and felt _so_ much better. After that, I hooked up with a gender therapist who came to Justiceburg twice a month just to see me, and that helped me cope for the rest of high school. During school I dressed as a guy, and at home and on weekends, I dressed as a girl, FINALLY!” 

Her voice had gone up at that last word, and she lifted her wineglass in a mock toast. Both Greg and Nick joined her, and everyone drank to that. Without prompting, Nick poured more for all three of them and Starr continued. 

“My dad . . . well, he traveled a lot as a salesman, so my mama and I were able to get away with the hormones and the dressing for a good long time. He wasn’t happy with me when he was home, though, and we got into it a lot when he was. Finally, after a serious argument when I was a sophomore, I stormed into my room, got into my girliest outfit—geez, I think it was a tube minidress in like, pink latex—and pranced out, right under his nose. And I remember to this day what I shouted at him—I’m not a fag, I’m a fucking GIRL, Daddy!” 

She sucked in a deep breath, adding, “I remember what he shouted back, too. He said, and I quote-- ‘And _I_ wish you were dead!” 

“Jesus!" Greg choked, tightening his arm around Starr. On the other side, Nick shifted closer, pulling Starr’s head to his shoulder. She said nothing, but it was clear from the shake of her body that she was sobbing now, silently. Greg took her wineglass and set it aside with his own, and for a while both men curled around her in unspoken comfort. 

After a while Starr raised her face and wiped her cheeks with the heel of her palm, sniffling. “Still hurts, sometimes.” 

“I hate the bastard,” Nick announced in a monotone. “Nobody should ever get away with sayin’ something like that, especially to their own kid. It’s abuse, clear and simple.” 

Greg agreed. “Totally. Is he dead?” 

Starr shook her head. “No.” 

“Too bad,” came the hard response from Nick. “But if he ever shows up around here, it . . ." 

Starr sniffled again, and laughed. “Not much chance of that. Daddy passes through Vegas once every couple of years, but he doesn’t know how to get in touch with me, other than by phone, and when he calls, I just erase the messages.” 

“And your mom just . . . let this go on?” Greg asked softly. “I’m not trying to be judgmental, babe, but it doesn’t sound like it was the best situation for the two of you.” 

“It wasn’t,” Starr admitted. “But we got by. My mama had her own problems just being married to my daddy. She helped me get into college and enrolled me as Starr Jean Jankowitz. That was fabulous—goin’ for an Art degree meant hanging around artists, and they’re . . . well, they’re more accepting than a lot of other social groups. And it was pretty damned far from Justiceburg. I had some great years in Austin, and ended up with a diploma that couldn’t really get me a job.” 

“So that’s when you came to Vegas?” Greg asked, passing the wine back to Starr. 

She giggled. “No, not yet. I went to Colorado and had my operation. Goodbye Stanley, hello Starr, officially, you know? My aunt paid for it, and I promised her I’d pay her back, every penny. While I was recovering, I took a quick bartending course and started moonlighting with a catering service, and _that_ eventually led me to Vegas. I scrounged for a year or so, and then got hired at the Cock Pit.” 

“And you’ve been here ever since, right?” Nick asked, shifting a little, lying back and relaxing. There was a drowsy feel in the room now. Starr finished her wine and passed the empty glass to Greg, who set it on the nightstand along with his own. They all snuggled down under the covers, settling into their familiar positions for sleeping. 

“Pretty much,” Starr yawned sleepily. “So now I’m a woman who has her love button on the inside, and the most excitable chest in all of Nevada. And two men who stepped right out of her fantasies and into her bed, Lord help me.” 

Arms tightened around her, and she sighed with happiness. 

*** *** *** 

Another two weeks passed; Nick barely realized it until he tore the page off his sports calendar. Nearly time to start scheduling vacations. Nearly his birthday, he noticed. 

That night he and Greg were given a robbery to process out at a mansion south of Henderson. It was the latest in a pattern of second story burglaries, and this one was just as efficiently done as the last three. The detectives were getting frustrated, and consequently were urging the two CSIs to do a thorough job; annoyed at the remarks, Nick and Greg took extra time in documenting and collecting the evidence at the scene. 

In the lull of bagging up potential prints, Greg spoke first. “Anybody ask you about Starr?” 

Nick reloaded film in his camera, head bent. “Oh yeah. Got a single question from Warrick, and a whole LOT of them from Catherine.” 

Greg grinned. “Bet I was asked the same questions.” 

“Are you really roommates? Have you seen her naked? Are her boobs real?” Nick recited with a wry laugh. “There’s curious, and then there’s downright nosy, I’m telling you. And she didn’t ask anything about you and me livin’ together at all.” 

“That’s because Starr is our beard,” Greg replied with a roll of his eyes and a quick grin. “The distraction to provide cover for our illicit love, Sugarbuns.” 

Nick shot Greg an annoyed look; Starr had given them nicknames, and Nick was dead sure he never wanted his to be used outside their home. 

“Ixnay on the name, all right? That’s not for public consumption, pal. Not unless you want me calling you Lovebunny.” 

Greg looked stunned and worried, glancing around the sumptuous bedroom they were processing. “Okay, okay, made your point. No using Starr’s ridiculous names. Just trying to keep things light.” 

Listening to the camera whirr as the film wound, Nick nodded. “It’s cool. I don’t think anybody buys that we’d be gay anyway, Greg. Severe lack of evidence, you know?” 

“You mean other than the fact that we sleep naked in the same bed four nights out of seven, yeah,” Greg mumbled. “And have watched each other having sex.” 

Nick blushed. It was a deep one, flushing his cheeks and standing out vividly on his fair skin. When he spoke, his voice was low. “There isn’t anything gay about that, and you know it, Greg. And we’re not talking about this here, you got that?” 

Greg glanced over and shrugged a little. “Got it. Just stating the truth, you know?” He rose up from the bag of prints and added, “What we’ve got—you, her and me—it’s hard for other people to understand. People want to quantify it; find some label that works for them. Roommates is good enough most of the time, but there are some folks around here that don’t buy it, Nick. Just giving you a heads up, that’s all.” 

Nick took a shot of the broken jewelry box and spoke over his shoulder. “Like who?” 

“Donovan from Dayshift for one. And that new detective, Vincent.” 

“How the hell did _they_ hear about our living arrangements?” Nick scowled, turning to get a few shots of the windowsill. Greg shrugged. 

“My guess is probably Catherine, not that she did it on purpose. People talk and sometimes they say things they didn’t intend to.” 

Nick didn’t speak again for a while, but Greg sensed it was because he was thinking things through. By the time they’d packed up the evidence and done a last circuit of the room, he finally spoke. “I guess I’m just going to go with what my Grandma Belle used to say.” 

Which was?” Greg asked curiously. 

Nick managed a humorless smirk. “It’s nobody else’s business.” 

“No, seriously, what did she say?” 

“That was it, man—it’s nobody else’s business. You and me don’t go asking Warrick about his marriage, or Archie about his dates—I don’t see why we need to say a damned thing more about our lives on our own time.” 

Thoughtfully Greg nodded. “I’m all for it. But you know Starr wants to have a housewarming party.” 

“Well then we’ll just have to make sure Cupcake understands the rules,” Nick announced firmly. “Although she’s better than us about being discreet and all.” 

“I thought you said no nicknames,” Greg grinned. 

Nick shrugged grinning. “She’s not here to get all huffy about it.” 

They headed for the stairs, Greg leading the way. He looked over his shoulder to say something and missed the third step; with a yelp, Greg fell, thumping hard down the long staircase, still clinging to his case as he did. Alarmed, Nick scrambled down after him, yelling his name. Two uniforms dashed forward from the front door of the house, reaching Greg on the landing before Nick did, only by virtue of being closer. 

“Sanders, you okay?” One of the uniforms demanded anxiously. The other was kneeling over him. Nick pushed his way in. 

Greg let out a sharp cry; not quite another yell, but with enough pain to assure everyone around him that he was NOT all right. 


	7. Chapter 7

Starr got Charlie to cover for her, and took off for Desert Palms, moving through traffic at a speed that would have gotten her a ticket if she’d been caught. Nick’s terse phone call had been reassuring, but she was determined to see Greg’s condition for herself. She parked and made her way in, looking around until Nick appeared in a hallway near a bank of elevators; Starr slid into his hug, clinging to him for a long moment. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Greg’s gonna be fine. The doc says it was a clean break for his ankle, so we’re looking at about six weeks of recovery time. He’s not supposed to put any weight on it for the first three days, and he’s a little loopy right now on pain meds," Nick warned her, hugging her tightly.

She pulled back and stared into his eyes. “So what happened, Nick?”

“He fell down the stairs at a scene. They weren’t carpeted, nor was the landing,” came his pained sigh. “It was an accident, but I feel like crap that I couldn’t grab him; stop him from going down . . ." he stopped, suddenly aware of what Starr was wearing.

Impatiently she glanced down at herself. “Yeah, yeah, it was Cowgirl Night at the bar. Can I see Greg?”

Nick took in the low-cropped jean skirt, the short flannel shirt tied up under her breasts, the straw cowboy hat and pigtails in one long gaze, his smile softly wicked. “I think Greg seeing _you_ is gonna cheer him up a hell of a lot.”

He led her down the hallway; there were curtained bays all down it, and Greg was behind the scrim of the third one on the left. He smiled dreamily at Starr, holding out his arms to her. “Oh YEAH! My cowgirl fantasy!”

“Hi sugar—how much Demerol did they give you?”

“Enough to be very happy right now,” he assured her with a lopsided smile. She bent over to kiss him, and Greg held her there a moment longer. When he let go, he looked over at Nick. “I can see right down her blouse. If _you_ talked her into this outfit—" he held two thumbs up.

Nick laughed, half out of amusement, half out of relief. “Cowgirl Night at The Cock Pit, apparently. You lucked out.”

“Yeah, aside from that whole broken ankle thing. They’re gonna put a pin in it."

“Right now, in fact,” came a dry voice. The curtain for the bay wooshed open, and a tall woman with a Dutch boy haircut and little pink-framed glasses stepped into the room. “I’m Doctor Madaras, and I’m here to take Gregory up for a little repair work. It won’t take much more than forty to sixty minutes, and we’d like keep an eye on him overnight, but he should be ready to go home tomorrow morning.”

“What time?” Nick asked, checking his watch. Greg looked around as two orderlies set up the bed rails and prepared to roll him out of the bay. Starr gave him a last kiss and walked with him, holding his hand. Doctor Madaras glanced at the chart on her hip.

“It’s nearly three now, so I’d say barring any complications, we’ll discharge him around ten or so tomorrow. He’ll need at least three days of bed rest.”

They said goodbye to Greg at the elevator; he’d told them not to call his mother yet, and they’d promised. When the elevator closed, Starr blinked hard, and took Nick’s hand. “I’m not gonna cry," she gulped. 

He pulled her in for a hug. “Nope. Cowgirls don’t cry—they get home and start setting up for the invalid. Geez, I better call Grissom and let him know we’ll be one short for the rest of the week.”

“Yeah,” Starr agreed. “Are we going to set Greg up in the living room?” They walked out to the parking lot; Starr led the way to her car and Nick held the door for her as she got in.

“Nah, getting to the bathroom would be too hard on him. How about your room?”

“Stairs, Nick," came her reminder.

He shrugged. “We can get him up those in a wheelchair, and settle him in for the next few days. The john’s right there, and we can bring up the big TV if we want to spoil the doofus.”

She laughed softly. “Yeah, I think he’s going to insist we do.”

Nick left her for his own car, and Starr met up with him at home. It was nearly dawn, and both of them were still awake, so they had a quick dinner of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches before climbing into bed together and curling up. Starr sighed. “It’s not the same without Greg.”

“Yeah,” Nick agreed sleepily. “I’ve gotten used to his snoring.”

That made her giggle. “He says it’s the Norwegian method of keeping arctic wolves away.”

“I thought it was the Sanders way of rattling windows." 

“Shhhhh,” Starr scolded softly before she kissed him goodnight. “No dissing our Lovebunny.”

Nick snickered, but rolled over, feeling comforted by the safe familiarity of an arm around his waist and Starr’s head snuggled against the back of his shoulder.

*** *** ***

Greg yawned, feeling a little restless, but not tired enough to sleep. The upside of his painkillers was that he wasn’t hurting, but the downside was a sense of insomnia. He’d already flipped through all the channels, read all the tabloids Starr had bought him, and listened to all the music he’d downloaded to his iPod.

He was doing everything he could to distract himself from thinking, but with so many of his options now exhausted his mind was now starting to drift into territory he didn’t want to get into. Stuff like self-pity. And fear—there was a lot of that along with resentment and frustration and despair, all waiting to occupy his thoughts and make sleep impossible.

Giving in to melancholy wasn’t something he liked, but Greg knew he was only human, and that when he was tired and in pain, it would sneak up on him, darkening his mood and leeching whatever optimism he had. Even though he was safe and pain-free for the moment, the edge of bleakness was there, bringing with it memories of every screw-up; every accident, bad decision and every act of fate.

Greg sighed. He eyed the black television screen once more, then tossed the remote onto the nightstand, where it clattered and tumbled off the far side, onto the floor. He cursed under his breath.

Greg slept on the right side of the big bed; it was his natural inclination, and he was grateful to find that his two bedmates didn’t mind letting him have his preference. It turned out that Nick was a left-sider anyway, and Starr was good with the middle, so everyone’s comfort levels were just right when they cuddled up for sleep or . . . other things. 

At the moment though, Greg was alone, and hating the fact that he couldn’t reach the remote even if he’d wanted to watch TV. He glared at it lying on the floor. One _more_ damned thing not going well, and again, it had been his own carelessness---

Footsteps coming up the stairs; Greg looked up as Starr walked in, breathless. She spotted the remote and scooped it up, then came over to him and kissed Greg as she handed the device back to him. “Hey hon. I got you a bagful of burgers from Burger Barn, along with some fries and a vanilla shake. Good?”

It sounded great, but Greg was still pissed, so he merely grunted. Starr set the food down on the quilt and leaned over him, providing a nice glimpse of cleavage. He eyed it, feeling a tad better—all the way until she pressed a hand to his forehead. “Stop!”

“Stop what?” She pulled her palm back, startled at his tone.

“Just . . . stop hovering over me and checking my temperature. It’s a broken ankle, not a fever, okay? I already HAVE a mother!”

Starr sighed, her expression patient; it irritated him further. She set the remote on the quilt, within reach. “Okay then. Need to go to the bathroom?”

If he did, he’d need her help getting up and down from the bed. Greg shook his head, even though the first prickling of his bladder kicked in at her words. “No, Greggie’s a big boy now. I don’t need to go to the potty.”

“You positive?” Starr murmured quietly, “Because you’re sure in a pissy mood, Lovebunny.”

“And don’t call me that _either_ —" he swept an arm out, and inadvertently knocked over the bag of burgers; they tumbled to the carpet, some of the catsup splattering there. Starr scrambled to clean the mess up, dabbing at the stain with a napkin.

Greg felt like crap; he hadn’t meant to knock the lunch over, but some imp of the perverse was into him now and wouldn’t let go. He reached for the remote. “Sorry,” he muttered, putting no emotion into the word at all. 

He clicked on the TV, and upped the volume a bit for emphasis.

Starr said nothing for a moment, simply picking up the bun and burger bits, wrapping them into a napkin. “Sure,” she finally murmured, echoing his bland tone. She glanced over at the nightstand. “When’s your next pill due?”

Greg grunted something, feeling his chest squeezing hard, caught between anger and regret. It wasn’t Starr’s fault, but if she hadn’t put the damned bag right _there_ it wouldn’t have happened in the first place.

“What?” She asked again, timidly.

He sighed loudly. “I _said_ not until three, sheesh!”

“Oh. Okay then,” Starr murmured, moving to the doorway. She was keeping her face averted, and with a sickening sensation in his stomach, Greg knew she was close to tears. He felt the answering tightness in his own throat; what was wrong with him that he was doing this to her?

“I’ll, uh, just let you rest then,” she added, and slipped out. Her stride had been so light and bouncy coming in; now Starr’s footsteps were slow and heavy. Greg’s fingers tightened on the remote and he squeezed it so hard that his fingers cramped around it.

He hated himself, and the blackness rushed in.

*** *** ***

“Hey man—" The voice roused him out of his uneasy slumber and Greg flinched as blinked, blearily. Nick stood in the doorway of the bedroom, and by the darkness from the windows it was clearly a lot later.

God he needed to pee pretty badly now, and Greg felt disoriented. He hadn’t slept well, and some infomercial was running on the TV, touting the miraculous power of some male enhancement crap. He reached around for the remote, hitting it more by luck than intent, and the commercial flared off.

“Whaaa?”

“Just checkin’ on you. Need to hit the can?” Nick murmured, moving over to the side of the bed and looking down. Greg guiltily let his gaze slide up that familiar body; felt the familiar tingle in response as he did so.

“Yeah,” he whispered.

Using Nick’s warm support he hopped his way to the bathroom and to the toilet, using it while Nick spoke loudly to him through the door. “Judy sent you a batch of cookies. Those Snickerdoodles you like so much. And Catherine said she can cover your cases until we get someone from Swing to fill in.”

“That’s good,” Greg yelled back, and flushed, then washed his hands. He was delaying the moment he’d have to open the door; knowing perfectly well that it would mean a shift in conversation and a talk that he really didn’t want to have with Nick.

But there was no way out of it, and Greg understood that facing the music was the price for hurting Starr. He hobbled to the door and pulled it open, tensing. Nick stepped over and slid an arm under his shoulders, bracing in the same strong support he’d given bringing him to the bathroom. They made it back to the bed and Greg let himself drop on the mattress stiffly. “Okay, go ahead and yell at me. I know you’re holding back.”

“Nah man, I’m not going to yell,” Nick told him, voice low. “But I _am_ going to ask you what the hell is going on.” He sat on the edge of the bed next to Greg and turned to face him in the light of the lamp. “She’s pretty upset, but all she said was that _you_ were upset.”

“I wasn’t upset—that’s a girly word. I was bored and pissed and not thinking straight, okay?” Greg mumbled. “I don’t do bed rest well.”

“No shit,” Nick replied a little sternly. “Doesn’t mean you have to go snapping at somebody tryin’ to help out.”

“Look, I said I’m sorry.”

“When?”

“What?”

“When? It wasn’t to Starr, and it wasn’t to me,” Nick pointed out. “If you had meant it, then she’d be okay instead of spending all afternoon crying her eyes out downstairs in your room.” 

Greg thought back, trying to bypass the lingering bad dreams and the warm nearness of Nick, but both were starting to get to him. “I said it. I think.”

“Yeah, that sounds real convincing. I’ll ask again--what the hell’s wrong?” came the sharp grumble. “Because I can’t start to fix things if I don’t get the inside track on what’s not working.”

“Great, more broken analogy,” Greg shot back. “You know, the one thing I’m getting damn tired to hearing is ‘broken.’ I’d rather think that we all have setbacks, or rough times, or depression. Broken gives off the impression that whatever it is, is permanent.”

Nick laughed; a short, humorless bark. “Geez Starr was right. You DO sound like someone pissed in your Cocoa Puffs. And whether you like it or not, Greggo, broken fits. I don’t know about you, but there are parts of me that aren’t ever going to be the same again, dude. I’m just startin’ to realize that, and it’s okay. I may not like some of it, but I’m learning to live with it. Hell, you and Starr were _encouraging_ me to cope. So don’t go behind my progress and tell me it’s all shit, because I damned well know better. Here—"

Nick thrust a few pills into Greg’s hand, along with a glass of water. “Get some antibiotics and common sense into yourself. There are two people in this house who actually DO give a damn about you, Greg. Just cluing you in.”

Startled by the forcefulness in Nick’s voice, Greg numbly took the pills and gulped them down, washing them back with the water. Nick took the glass from him and reached across to set it on the nightstand. He looked at Nick, who was staring at him in the dim light, his expression watchful.

“I . . . ." Greg wasn’t sure what to say. An apology now would be too little too late. He opted to run a hand through his hair instead.

Nick nodded slowly. “It’s okay man. Starr and I aren’t going to take it personally. She’s in your room tonight and I’m out in mine. Get some sleep, okay buddy?” With a quick and careless hug, Nick engulfed him for a moment, then let go and rose up, heading for the door. As it closed behind him, Greg finally found his voice.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked to the empty air.


	8. Chapter 8

Starr was awake when her phone rang. She fished for it, feeling a jolt of relief so strong it was like a gulp of whisky. Flipping her phone open, she whispered, “Yeah baby?”

For a long time there was silence, broken by raspy breathing. Then she heard him. “I need you.”

“Greg---!"

“I gotta say it, Starr. I messed up and hurt you and Nick too, and I don’t . . . I don’t know why. You guys are the best thing I’ve ever had.”

“Oh honey—"

“Please let me get this said, okay?” Greg snuffled. “Because it’s killing me right now. I just—I don’t know if I can take another . . . setback. I thought I was over feeling like this, but every time something bad happens, it opens up old feelings. Feelings of being stupid, or dumb, or weak, and even though LOGICALLY I know I’m not, it’s hard to think that way after things keep . . . happening to me.”

“I know,” Starr murmured gently, slipping out of bed. She kept the phone to her ear as she moved out the room, passing silently through the halls and up the stairs.

Greg’s voice was still in her ear. “I’m sorry, babe. I’m so sorry about the remote, and the burger and everything. You were being good to me, and I treated you like dirt.”

“Greg, it’s okay,” she reassured him. “I was just surprised, but I understand, honey. You know I love you."

The answer to this was a soft sob, and Starr gently opened her bedroom door, moving in the darkness towards the bed. Tossing the phone to the nightstand, she slipped over the mattress to gather Greg in her arms, holding him close.

He cried, muffling the sound against her shoulder, and the heat of his tears stung her skin a little. Starr couldn’t be sure; she was crying herself, both in relief and empathy, her arms holding him close as they lay together on the bed. Greg clung to her, his lean strength a comfort, and she cradled his head, toying with the softness of his hair.

After a while, Greg drew in a great, shuddering sigh and shifted, reaching to wipe his face as he laughed a little in a self-deprecating way. “Pretty mature of me, huh?”

“Shhhh. Right now I am SO in love with you,” Starr told him in a whisper. “It takes a lot to admit you’re not coping.”

“Yeah, well you’re not the only one I need to say it to, either,” Greg muttered. He reached around on the bed and found his cell phone, hitting the speed dial.

A moment later, Nick’s muzzy voice answered. “Th’ hell—Greg?”

“I need you,” Greg confessed gently. “We both do, so get up here, okay?”

“Yeah, well I wasn’t sleeping too good myself anyway,” Nick replied with relief in his voice. “Comin’ up.”

Starr heard the heavy footfalls and grinned in the dark, her arms still around Greg. The shape in the door stood for a moment, and she called softly to him. “Come to bed.”

Nick hesitated, but Greg leaned over Starr’s torso and looked towards him. “We need you,” he told him. “Both of us. I’m not letting the two people I love stay hurt because I was an asshole.”

“Sounds like a good start,” Nick murmured, sliding onto the bed. 

Reaching in the dark, hands and arms intertwined; soft words whispered and broke. Starr cuddled and kissed every bit of either man she could, lingeringly; what had been a matter of quiet comfort gradually morphed into a hotter intensity of touch and caress.

Nobody could get enough of everybody else, Starr laughed to herself; that much was clear. She kept quiet though, and turned her attention to enjoying the caresses under her nightie, reaching to help Greg out of his pajama bottoms. Nick had already been down to his boxers; he dropped them off the side of the bed at some point, she realized with delight.

A few lingering kisses and soft whispers later, Starr had lubed herself and lightly straddled Nick, moaning softly as she did so; next to them Greg lay on his side, eyes big in the dark, breathing hard. Nick gave a little groan, his hands sliding from Starr’s waist and down the flare of her naked hips, “Goood---"

“Yeah. Watching you . . ." Greg rasped, “So close---!" 

Starr moved, shifting herself on Nick, lost in the heat of their bodies, the sweet hot thrusts driving her mad with pleasure. She looked to Greg, who was stroking himself at the same pace, drinking in the sight of her and Nick gently fucking in the dark.

“Oh Goddd---" Nick rasped, his hips rocking up, his stomach flexing with every thrust. Starr cupped her breasts, whimpering softly. She knew it wasn’t just what she and Nick were doing that had him so hard; it was both of them knowing Greg was watching them as well that put such a keen edge to their pleasure. Starr rubbed her puckered nipples hard and the rush of heat through her entire body made her cry aloud.

Nick shuddered under her, arching up, breathing raggedly. Starr felt him pulsing deeply within her, hot and hard. She looked over at Greg, who was grunting, his fist moving roughly now, his face twisted as the slow intensity of his own impending orgasm rose. Leaning, she tried to reach a hand to him, but instead, Nick turned his face to Greg, eyes shut.

Nick spoke softly; one quick demand in the dark.

Greg tipped his face up, dazed, and Nick kissed him in a light press of their mouths. It was too much, and Greg moaned, the hot splash of his semen bubbling over his slippery fist, spraying Starr’s thigh and Nick’s ribs in a few wild thrusts. Greg’s groans trailed off a moment later, and Starr lay across Nick’s chest, curling one hand around the back of his neck as she bent and added her kiss to theirs, the three of them sharing a sweet tangle of tongues and purring.

Finally Greg pulled back, his chest heaving with a need for air. “God. OhmyGod. I . . . Nick . . ."

“Shhhhh---" came the other man’s strained reply. “Don’t overthink it, Greg. Just shut up and relax, okay?”

Starr watched as Greg sighed, slumping his head on the pillow, tension draining from him. She laughed softly, and began to shift herself off of Nick. They lay together in a sticky hot pile of bodies, cooling slowly, quiet in the shadows.

Finally Starr sighed. “We need to wash up, sweethearts. And change the bedspread at least.”

“And I need to pee again,” Greg chimed in, making the other two laugh softly in the dark. 

*** *** *** 

Nick knew Greg was freaked, and some part of him enjoyed the sensation of having him off-balance. Greg was usually so suave, so effervescent most of the time that being able to throw him for a loop was almost . . . fun.

In his own heart of hearts though, Nick also knew that they’d have to talk though, and soon. Clearly Greg had been overwhelmed by their kiss but was afraid to say anything about it or the group ones that had followed. Even in the morning he hadn’t spoken about it, although Starr had murmured her thanks and given them both kisses before getting up and dressed for a day at court.

As for himself, Nick felt . . . strangely good. He’d taken a chance the night before and it hadn’t blown up in his face. Hadn’t been sure how things were going to go, but so far it had been all right, and he could look at himself in the mirror without a problem.

He loved Starr.

And, he loved Greg.

Maybe not in the same way—he didn’t have that below-the-stomach hunger for Greg the way he did for Starr, but it hadn’t felt all that weird to kiss him in a moment of passion and unity. Greg was a lot of things, and Nick wasn’t about to deny that being naked night after night with the man had given him a slightly different perspective on the way the three of them related.

Steeling himself, Nick brought in the breakfast tray and stared at Greg, who was sprawled on the mattress, snoring softly. Nick grinned, and called out, “Hey Lovebunny! Chow’s on.”

Greg snuffled and slowly woke up, opening his big brown eyes and focusing on Nick. He tensed a little. “Nick. Thanks. Is there any coffee?”

“Yep, fresh ground and hot. And stop looking like at me like I’m gonna take a bite out of you, all right?”

Tousled and wary, Greg stared at him a moment longer. “I can’t help it. It’s not like things are . . . normal, right now.”

“Aren’t you the guy who’s been trying to tell me that normal is overrated, and that it’s good to look at things from another perspective?” Nick murmured carefully. 

Greg’s expression twisted a bit, and he looked as if he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or scowl. He sat up, wincing, and reached for the mug as Nick dropped his hands to his hips and watched him. 

“Need meds?”

Greg glanced at the clock radio and nodded; Nick brought the bottles from the bathroom and handed them over, waiting until the other man had swallowed two pills down with a mouthful of coffee. 

He sighed. “Greg—I don’t know how to say this, so I’m just going to say it. I’m not gay. _I_ know, it, and _you_ know it. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t respond to you, you know?”

“Respond to me?” Greg shot back. “Dude, I’m not an experiment, okay? And our sleeping arrangements aren’t exactly a controlled environment.”

“You’re telling me—" Nick flashed out one of his careless, beautiful grins, and Greg couldn’t help but blush. Shifting on the mattress, Greg shook his head a little.

“Yeah, well then I guess it’s pretty obvious that I . . . respond to you too. You AND Starr,” he added hastily.

Nick moved over to the window, and looked out into the back yard, speaking gently over his shoulder. “Greggo, I know you’re bi. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change things for me one way or the other, because I know how much you love Starr, and how important it is for you to be with her _and_ me, okay?”

For a few minutes the room was silent, neither man looking at the other. Then gradually Greg gave a long sigh. “I can’t help it, Nick. You’re my friend, and part of my family now, more important to me nearly anybody else, but . . . you turn me on. I didn’t mean for it to be an issue; I thought I could handle being around you. But Jesus, seeing you naked, watching you with Starr—do you have any _idea_ of how damned HOT you are?”

A high, hot blush rose over Nick’s face, and he bit his lips before speaking. “Hey . . . I kissed you because you needed it. Because it was the right thing to bring you into that moment with us. I love you too man, but I’m not ready to make it more of a physical thing.”

Greg sighed. “I know. And . . . I’m guessing it might never _be_ more than a hand here or a kiss there . . . but last night meant a hell of a lot to me.”

“Me too,” Nick admitted softly. “You were right.”

Greg looked over at him, puzzled, and Nick smiled again, clarifying. “About Starr being the best damned thing to happen for us in a long time, man. It works. The three of us.”

There was a nod of emphatic agreement from Greg. “I know. As you suggested, I’m trying not to overthink it.”

“Good advice,” Nick laughed. “So I’m outta here for the deposition on the Harante case, and I see if I can bring El Rosale home for dinner, okay?”

Greg smiled and nodded.

*** *** ***

A few more weeks went by, and the gradual changes of co-habitation made themselves evident. Greg healed, slowly but steadily. There were three names stenciled on the mailbox out at the curb now; Sanders/Jankowitz/Stokes. The weekly chore chart had been laminated, and a family calendar graced the front of the refrigerator, surrounded by magnets from Texas, California, and Hawaii. There were three television remotes in the family room, a high-end treadmill in the garage, and the fish tank held not only several more fancy goldfish, but also a large ceramic replica of the Alamo.

One of the biggest changes however, happened with quiet simplicity. The clothes in Starr’s walk-in closet shifted from all hers to a three way collection of suits, jeans, formalwear and dresses neatly laid out, one wall to a person. Greg had the right, Starr the back and Nick the left; a clear reflection of their self-same spots in bed.

The bathroom had been more complicated until Nick built an étagère onto the wall and Starr monogrammed the three big wicker baskets in the tower N/S/G. She color-coded the towels and washcloths as well, choosing pink for herself, green for Nick and blue for Greg.

They _all_ had a say in the sheets, and came home from Linens and Things with a cheerful collection of flowered prints, stripes, geometric designs and solids. Starr picked two bedspreads as well in soft chenille, neutral colors; spreads that went well with the throw pillows and washed easily.

Greg took charge of the kitchen, showing an impish and unexpected flare for cooking, much to Starr’s relief and Nick’s enthusiasm. He organized the mix of their collective kitchenware with neat efficiency and started keeping a nice collection of herbs and wines as well.

The house itself had become Nick’s project, and he took pride in working with both Starr and Greg to bring out all the better features of their Spanish style home. Window by window he re-did the black iron grillwork, and got estimates on doing the master bedroom balcony as well. He checked the tile roof, and helped Starr pick out pots of geraniums and spider plants for the back patio.

Starr took on the bills and the shopping, feeling well within her forte in doing so. She divided up the expenses, kept track of the house budget and managed the calendar with a happy efficiency that amused both Nick and Greg, who were regularly informed of dentist and doctor appointments along with other, various engagements.

And the party was coming up.

*** *** ***

“So it’s a housewarming. Good food, good tunes," Greg murmured to Archie, who nodded and beamed. 

“I’m there—do I need to bring anything?”

“A suit maybe, if you want to try out the hot tub, but everything else is covered—so to speak.” 

Archie grinned at that. “How many folks are coming?”

Greg thought about it for a moment. “Maybe thirty—it’s not a big party; none of us are up for stadium capacity.” He shifted on his crutches. “Anyway, it’s not like I’m going to be dancing anytime soon.”

“When does the cast come off?” Archie asked sympathetically. 

Greg looked down at the blue canvas boot over his foot and sighed. “Not soon enough. Another three weeks, and the only good thing out of the whole damn fiasco was breaking the case along with my ankle.”

“Stuff heroes are made of—see you Saturday,” Archie murmured, watching Greg head off. 

Greg skillfully made his way down the hall towards the break room where Nick and Warrick were having some sort of good-natured argument about who last made the coffee; ducking in, Greg caught his roommate’s eye questioningly.

Nick nodded. “Yeah he’s coming.”

Warrick brightened for a moment. “You bet—I’m not the only one dying to see your Three’s Company arrangement.”

“Three’s Company was two girls and one guy,” Greg replied wearily and not for the first time.

Warrick’s grin widened, and he dumped the old coffee filter into the garbage can alongside the counter. “At least it’s not Two and A Half Men, right?”

Nick and Greg exchanged quick glances and shifted gazes elsewhere; Nick cleared his throat. “Hey Warrick---"

“A _joke,_ Nick; nothin’ personal. I like Starr,” Warrick pointed out mildly. “Besides, _she_ was the one who said it to ME, okay?”

“She did?” Greg asked. Warrick nodded, adding a new filter and pouring fresh grounds into it.

“Yep. I ran into her during that case with Haslett—she was doing a sketch of the jury, and we got to talking. Man, I don’t think I’ve seen a happier woman—whatever you’re slipping into her coffee must be workin’ because it was all ‘Nick this’ and ‘Greg that’. I wasn’t sure I was gonna get a word in edgewise.”

“She can be a little . . . chatty,” Nick agreed, grinning a bit. Warrick snorted, and Greg smirked.

“Yeah, well she’s under the delusion that you two clowns are the hottest thing in Vegas. Tell you the truth, I was feeling a little jealous there.”

Greg’s expression shifted to something slightly smug; Nick drew in a breath. “No kidding.”

“Yeah,” Warrick admitted softly. “I think you’ve got a good thing goin’ there. Anyway, it’s on Saturday, right?”

“Yeah, if you want to pop in before shift that’s cool; I know Catharine was going to do that, and Starr’s got people coming all through the evening. We’ve already told the neighbors so nobody’s going to give you a hard time about the parking,” Greg told him.

Warrick added water to the coffeemaker, nodding. “Count me in. Is this thing plugged in?”

Leaving Nick and Warrick to continue fussing with the coffeemaker, Greg moved on, swinging easily on his crutches, making his way down the hall towards Grissom’s office. He was in, and looked up as Greg came in.

“Greg.”

“Grissom. Did Nick already invite you to our housewarming party?”

“He did,” Grissom nodded. “I told him I’d try to make it. Do you have a wine preference?”

“Pinot Noir, Eye of the Swan,” Greg cheekily told him.

Grissom nodded again. “The two thousand four was considered good year.”

“And it goes well with the stuffed mushrooms and shrimp puffs I’m making,” Greg agreed. “Grown-up finger food, as it were.”

Grissom pursed his mouth, and Greg had the impression it was to keep from smirking. For a moment they simply looked at each other, and Greg spoke again, softly. “You know Starr, right?”

“Miss Jankowitz, courtroom artist for the Las Vegas Sun,” Grissom replied promptly. “She covered the Bremer trial, and the proceedings on the Strip bombing story.”

“That’s the one,” Greg nodded. “She’s our roommate; I wasn’t sure if you’d met her.”

“Not socially,” Grissom admitted, “Although I’ve seen her in the courtroom and hallways. She seems very nice.”

Greg smiled.


	9. Chapter 9

Nick paced a little, eyeing the two sitting on the downstairs sofa and trying to keep his expression stern. “Okay, are we all clear on our story?”

“We agreed to become roommates for economic convenience,” Starr and Greg chorused back, looking up at him with tolerant amusement. Starr was in a short pink mini-dress and matching sandals; Greg had on a grey and blue striped shirt and jeans.

Nick nodded and pointed a finger at Starr. “Are you involved with anyone?”

“Not currently dating anyone, but that might change,” she replied smoothly, her expression coy.

Nick turned to Greg. “Do you think Nick and Starr are getting hot for each other?”

“Well, Catherine,” Greg murmured, “I couldn’t say, but I don’t think so. It’s true Nick’s definitely a breast man, but I think Starr’s seeing someone.”

“Good, good—that will divert her,” Nick agreed. “Okay, last one—if someone asks to see the upstairs, _we_ say--"

“Sorry, but we’re working on the plaster and the place is a mess,” came Starr and Greg’s rehearsed chant. 

Nick checked his watch, and Greg rose from the sofa, his expression amused. “So, now that we’ve passed the test, can I make sure my mushrooms aren’t shriveling to bottle caps?” 

“Oh! Yeah, yeah, go ahead," Nick muttered. Starr got up as well, smoothing the skirt of her dress down as she stepped closer. 

“Relax, Sugarbuns, it’s going to be a great party,” she soothed him, running her fingers along the collar of his sage green button-down shirt. 

Nick took Starr in his arms, hugging her gently before pulling back and looking at her. “I know—but I _also_ know exactly how nosy some of these guests are. Think about it; Greg and I snoop for a living, and Catherine’s been at it longer than either one of us.” 

Starr shrugged. “I could always booby-trap the bedroom door.” 

“Don’t tempt me,” Nick laughed. The doorbell rang, and he gave Starr a last snuggle before heading to answer it. Starr wandered into the kitchen and breathed in the heavenly aroma of parmesan and garlic as Greg set two trays of mushroom caps on the tile counter. 

“Hot,” he warned her. “Who’s here?” 

“Dunno,” Starr replied grinning and coming around to begin peeling the leaded foil off one of the wine bottles on the counter. “We’ll know soon enough.” 

Guests arrived in twos and threes for the next hour, and gradually the house began to fill up. Starr was in her element, talking and moving through the rooms, checking on glasses, offering more of Greg’s canapés and hors d'oeuvres to everyone. Nick showed off the house and fielded questions while Greg took charge of the stereo and chatted with people. 

The vibe was mellow; Starr was feeling good right up until she opened the door to face two people, only one of whom she’d expected. The woman beamed; the man smirked. 

Starr stood there, stunned. 

“Hey girlfriend! You said I could bring a date, so I did!” the brassy blonde woman chirped. “Meet Randy!” 

“We’ve already met, Cici—hello Randy,” Starr muttered, blinking. She stepped back, both to let them in, and to avoid the man’s arms as he reached out to hug her. Awkwardly his hands brushed her shoulders and he pulled them back. 

“Hey Starr—looking hot tonight,” he winked at her, and turned back to the woman draped along his side, “But not as sizzling as my Cici!” 

“Muy caliente!” Cici purred. Starr waved towards the interior of the house and tried to look pleasant. 

“Yeah. So, this is my new place, and um, my roommates are around—there’s plenty of good stuff on the bar, so um, help yourselves,” she told them hollowly. Cici giggled and clung to Randy, who gave Starr a lascivious wink as he and his date came in. 

“Niiice place,” he commented. “Musta set you back a bundle, babe. All that court crayola stuff pays pretty good, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Star mumbled, and excused herself. She made a beeline for the kitchen, moving past other guests just a little too quickly. Greg looked up, and seeing her, he grabbed his crutches and swung himself up, hobbling along until he was with Starr, the two of them crowded by the refrigerator. She was fumbling in one of the lower cabinets. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.” 

“I know you, Cupcake, and when you’re digging around for Tequila, it’s not good. Talk to me," Greg urged. 

Starr hesitated, and swallowed hard.“I invited my friend Cici, and um, she asked if she could bring a date and she did. Randy, ex-boyfriend of mine,” she sighed in one long breath. “He’s a total jerk, and I’m really not comfortable having him here tonight.” 

"Yeah, I can see that,” Greg sympathized. “He was the pharmacutical rep, right?” 

“Yeah,” Starr murmured. “The one who told me he wished I still had a dick because I’d be hotter that way.” 

“Oh, _that_ jerk,” Greg’s voice dripped venom. “Charming. I’ll keep an eye on him—does Cici know about the two of you?” 

“I’m betting Randy glossed it over; she’s still a pre-op, so he’s probably using her hard,” Starr griped back. “Damn it.” 

Greg hitched his crutches closer and reached out, giving Starr’s shoulder a squeeze. “Don’t let him ruin tonight for you. Nick and I will make sure he stays in line. You going to be okay?” 

Starr rose up from the cabinet and looked Greg in the eyes squarely, drawing a deep breath. “Yes. Yes, I am. I just—didn’t expect to see him, especially HERE, you know?” 

Greg gave her a quick hug, planting a kiss on her ear to make her giggle, and pulled back. “Got your back, Jankowitz—now go party!” 

She giggled a little, and sauntered off towards the back patio; Greg waited until she was out of sight then tried to think where he’d last seen Nick. It came to him, and Greg stumped off in the direction of the garage. Sure enough Nick was there with Warrick and another friend of Starr’s from the Cock Pit; April, if he remembered her right. 

“. . . Thinking of putting in a tool cabinet over against the wall; maybe a Craftman," Nick was getting enthusiastic, and Greg shared a quick grin with Warrick as he moved into the conversational circle. 

“Hey, Greg. Nice place. Really nice,” Warrick greeted him. 

April, a Latino woman in a peasant blouse and jeans, nodded in agreement. “Gorgeous—Starr told me you guys were helping, but I saw the before photos, and you’ve done miracles!” she gushed, her hands in her back pockets. “Maybe you should contract out in your spare time!” 

“It’s pretty satisfying,” Nick agreed, and then caught the look in Greg’s eye. “So that’s pretty much the whole place—let’s head on back in and we can all grab another beer, okay?” 

He held back as Warrick and April headed inside and looked at Greg, who filled him in quickly in a low voice. Nick scowled. 

“Great. Sounds like Cici is either clueless or a bitch for bringin’ him. What’s he look like?” 

“Blonde, sorta husky, not a great complexion,” Greg replied. “And Starr’s pretty stressed.” 

“Maybe we can convince him to make an early night and hit the road,” Nick agreed. “Not that I’m any happier having him know the address.” 

“Yeah, not a thrill for me either,” Greg agreed. “Still, we’ll make nice for as long as it takes.” 

Inside they circulated again, and Catherine came up to Nick, smiling. “Great place you’ve got here.” 

“Yeah, I have to admit it’s pretty sweet,” Nick nodded, slightly wary. 

Catherine looked around and then turned her bright gaze on him once more. “I give up. Which one of you is hooked up with her? Because it’s GOT to be serious if you’re stripping wallpaper and replacing tiles. Those are honeymooner chores, Nick. Homeowner jobs.” 

“Oooooor she could be getting a lot of free work out of us for a lowered rent,” Nick pointed out with a grin. “Come on, Cath—" 

“Riiiight,” Catherine grinned back. “Don’t think we’re through with this discussion, Stokes.” 

“Why? You need someone to replace the grout in YOUR bathroom?” Nick asked before taking her wineglass to refill it. 

Catherine paused, looking thoughtful. “Come to think of it—" 

“All contracts go through the lady of the house,” Nick told her truthfully. “Although we’ve been to Home Depot so much the staff all know us by name and tack on a ten percent discount.” 

Out on the patio, Grissom was looking at the glass hummingbird feeder hanging from the hook on the lemon tree by the spa. Starr was next to him. 

“I know we’d have better luck with flowering vines, but gardening’s not my strong point, and I don’t want Nick to do it,” she told him. 

Grissom gave her a quick glance, and nodded. “I understand . . . and I’m glad that you do, as well.” 

Starr spoke again softly. “Yeah. He’s such a good man, and he’s been through so much—I just want him to be happy.” 

“I think he is,” Grissom assured her in a gentle tone. “And from what I can see, this home has a lot to do with that.” 

Starr blushed. “Yeah, it really feels like it’s getting to be one. I don’t know what exactly makes the difference.” 

“The people,” Grissom assured her. “Give and take, love, laughter—intangibles, but they’re what create a home no matter what the walls or floors are like.” 

Starr blinked at that, and smiled at Grissom. Before she could say anything more though, another person strolled out towards them on the patio. Randy grinned at Starr, toasting her with his beer. “Hey babe. So, nice place.” 

Grissom excused himself and wandered back towards the house; Starr turned to Randy, a bright, artificial smile on her face, wondering where Cici was. She asked. 

“She’s talking to some of the ladies from the bar,” he murmured absently. “You look good, Starr. Really good. I forgot how hot those legs of yours are.” So saying, he moved closer, smiling a little more. 

Starr shook her head. “We’re _done_ , Randy. We’ve been done a long time.” 

“Yeah I know. But we had some good times,” he wheedled, trying to get her to smile. “And you know I loved you for who you are—not everyone can say that.” 

“That’s not true,” Starr shot back, her voice dropping to an angry whisper. “You were disappointed I wasn’t hung—I haven’t forgotten that.” 

Randy shook his head, trying to look contrite, but in the party lights on the lemon tree he merely looked rumpled. “Hey, it wasn’t personal, okay? I’ve got preferences, just like any guy, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like a hot pair of legs and a tight little ass, Starr. Sure, Cici’s cute, but she doesn’t have your Ferrari lines, you know?” 

“Shut it before you say something _really_ stupid,” Starr told him, and sighed. She began to walk away, but Randy reached for her arm. 

“Oh baby don’t be that way! When Cici told me about the party I thought it would be cool to see you again, and yeah, you’re still sizzling. Just seeing you is _doing_ things for me, you know?” 

“Randy, I didn’t invite you,” Starr pointed out, “And I don’t care if seeing me is giving you wood, because it’s sure as shit not doing a damn thing for me.” The hand on her upper arm tightened, and she looked down at it. “Let go.” 

She could smell the beer on his breath, and wondered how many he’d had. 

“Not until you say you missed me,” Randy murmured, moving closer to her, crowding in. “I _know_ you have, otherwise you wouldn’t be wearing a dress with no panty lines, babe. You want some, and I’m just the guy to give it to you.” 

“Actually I’m just the guy to give it to _you_ ,” came the flat and humorless voice of Nick as he stood for a moment surveying the scene in front of him. Randy belatedly let go of Starr’s arm and looked at Nick, a foolish grin spreading over his face. 

“Hey, it’s cool. Starr and I have a special sort of history, if you know what I mean.” 

“Really?” Greg asked, crutching his way over, his expression just as grim as Nick’s. “Because the way she tells it, you’re an asshole who uses people for his own personal kinks. And _personally_ , I think this party would be a lot better off if you went home early.” 

Randy looked from Nick to Greg and then to Starr, his expression growing sullen. “Who the hell _are_ these guys?” 

“My—roommates,” she told him, her face soft with pride and other gentle emotions. “And I think you should do what they _say,_ Randy.” 

“Oh, I get it. Sure. Living with two guys—damn, I bet the sleeping arrangements are fun around here," Randy muttered snidely. “Tell me Starr, you love pulling a trai—" 

Nick’s fist embedded itself deep in Randy’s soft gut; he folded forward, gagging, and Greg swung the tip of one crutch up under the man’s chin, rocking his head back with a hard snap. Randy suddenly looked frightened, and a little ill. 

Starr stepped away from him, and between Nick and Greg. She spoke softly but firmly. “Beat it, Randy. Get in your car and get out of here.” 

He slowly straightened up, his expression sullen and hurt. “Fuck it—this scene blows anyway. Cici!” Randy bellowed. “Come on, we’re getting the hell out of here!” 

Nick looked as if he wanted to object, but Starr laid a hand on his arm. “Let her go if she wants. She’ll find out what sort of bastard he is soon enough, and the girls at the Pit will be there for her like they were for me.” 

Greg looked slightly reluctant, but he nodded. “Okay, but if he lays a hand on her—" 

“We’ll deal with it, yeah,” Starr agreed. “Thank you, guys." 

“Babe, this is what boyfriends are for,” Greg pointed out, and Nick nodded. He still looked tense, and Starr rubbed his shoulder, wanting to do more, but aware of party guests nearby. 

“Well you’re both my heroes, and I’m going to reward you with anything you’d like.” Seeing Greg perk up, she grinned and added in a low voice, “Later, when the party’s over.” 

“I’m thinking naked massage, myself,” Greg murmured to Nick, who finally grinned. 

“Newsflash, Greggo; you’re _always_ thinking naked massage!” 

“Well yeah, but this time it’s going to come true!” came the happy retort. 


	10. Chapter 10

Nick noted the chubby little woman with the familiar brown eyes carefully studying the fish in the tank. He made a detour to reach her side, and introduced himself. “Hey there, I’m Nick Stokes,” he commented gently, offering his hand. 

She took it, looking him up and down quickly, then smiled back. “Missy Sanders. You’re one of Greg’s roommates, right?”

“Yes Ma’am. Work with him too,”

“I remember you,” Missy nodded. “The Texan with the incredible teeth. The first year Greg was here in Vegas he kept tellng me how jealous he was of your teeth.”

“Is that so?” Nick blushed a little. “Well it’s just good genetics I guess. And brushing.”

Missy Sanders smiled a bit at that, but the tension was still there around her eyes. “You probably have harder enamel too—Greg’s is like chalk, I swear. Anyway, I promised him I’d stop by and meet his housemates, so—" she trailed off, looking down.

Nick cleared his throat. “Well you’ve met half then. I’m Nick, and I know Starr’s around here somewhere. Let’s see if we can go find her.”

“Is she—" Missy Sanders lightly reached out and touched Nick’s arm, her voice dropping to a whisper, “A . . . hootchie?”

“Ma’am?” Nick replied, startled and a little amused. Missy Sanders pursed her mouth, fighting an embarrassed smile.

“Oh I know that’s not the right term, but I think you know what I mean—one of those sexpot girls who never takes anyone’s feelings seriously and breaks hearts like other folks break eggs. Spoiled? Selfish?”

Nick patted the woman’s arm reassuringly, feeling an empathy for Greg. “Nope. Starr’s not like that at all. She’s a sweetheart.”

He smiled to give it emphasis, knowing the truth of his words. At that moment he caught sight of Starr, who was picking up empty glasses, and waved her over, taking the cups from her and making the introduction. “Ms Sanders, this is Starr Jankowitz, our other housemate. Starr, this is Greg’s mom.”

“Oh wow! Your son is terrific, Mrs. Sanders—one of the nicest guys in the world!” Starr gushed, taking Miss Sander’s hand and squeezing it gently. “Nick and I would be _lost_ without him around here, I swear.”

“Oh! Oh really?” Missy Sanders brightened, looking up at Starr. “I’m glad to hear that. Call me Missy, please.” Her big eyes took in the young woman in the pink sundress; Starr blushed at little under her scrutiny.

“Yes ma’am. I had no idea how to do hospital corners or get orange juice out of silk before he moved in. And man, can he cook!”

“Oh I did teach him a few home recipes,” Missy nodded. “He’s always been good in the kitchen.”

The two women continued to chat, and Nick murmured a quick excuse and carried the empty glasses away, grinning to himself as he made his way through the living room towards the kitchen. He found Greg there, bagging up recyclables.

“Your mom’s here, talking to Starr.”

Greg looked up, slightly panicked. “And you left them _alone_ together?”

“Why not? They seemed to be getting along just fine." Nick replied.

Greg rubbed a hand over his face and gave a sigh. “Two words, Stokes. Two words to strike fear into the heart—baby photos.”

“Oh _really_? I think I need to get back to that little conversation then,” Nick replied with smooth deviousness. “Because I _love_ a good baby picture.”

“Make a move towards the living room and you’ll regret it,” Greg warned. “I have _your_ mother’s phone number you know. One call and I can have your pre-Kindergarten snaps up here via Fed-Ex.”

Nick’s smile widened. “No problem. Truth to tell, I was considered a pretty cute baby.”

Greg rolled his eyes at the failed bluff. “Of course you were. I’m betting you were absolutely adorable in _every_ school picture, Nick. Probably never had a zit in your life, and blinded everyone in a six foot radius with the gleam of those teeth.”

Nick crossed his arms, still smirking. “Actually . . . yeah.”

“I hate you,” Greg crooned sweetly. “Every hot and studly inch of you, Stokes.”

“Suuuurrrrree you do,” Nick replied, but his face was pink and he slipped out of the kitchen. He couldn’t quite understand why he’d teased his roommate like that. It had been unexpectedly fun, but the surprise of Greg’s accusation had startled him, and Nick wasn’t sure why he felt pleased instead of annoyed. After all, he’d already talked with Greg once about how things stood with them, and Greg was cool with it.

Nick asked himself, was he--flirting with the man?

With Greg?

He shook his head and made his way back to Starr, determined to put his mind to other, less complicated things, but all through the rest of the evening the little question stayed in the back of his mind. By the time the last guest had left, and Starr had rounded up the dishes, Nick hadn’t been yet willing to give the matter any hard consideration.

Both Greg and Starr were in contented moods, lounging against the counter, recapping the highlights of the party on either side of him while he rinsed wineglasses and loaded them in the dishwasher. 

“Oh God I _loved_ that shot of you in the bathtub, Greg—that had to be the first time you had a spiky ‘do, right?” came Starr’s tease.

Greg batted his eyes. “Yes it’s true—Mr. Bubble was my first hairgel.” 

“Well you were adorable, darling, and I think I’m going to ask your mom for a copy so we can hang it, framed in our bathroom.” Starr announced, her hands forming the shape in the air. “You have any baby pictures, Nick?” 

He shook his head, grinning, “Oh no, nothin’ here in Vegas. All Stokes baby pictures are the sole property of Gloria Stokes, and as such will remain in her possession until hell freezes over.” 

Greg shot a determined look at Starr, who grinned back. Nick caught it and tried to frown but it was difficult when between to playful schemers. “Guys---" 

“Too late, dude. Operation Baby Nicky Photo is officially launched,” Greg replied. “How about you, Starr—any baby photos you don’t mind having on the wall?” 

“One,” Starr admitted with a soft smile. “Back yard with a dandelion in my chubby little fist. I’ll see if mom has a copy she can spare. Speaking of moms, yours is really nice, Greg. I didn’t know she was in Henderson.” 

Greg nodded. “Yeah, after my dad retired, they wanted someplace a little less fire-prone than San Gabriel, and the market was right for what they wanted.” 

“It doesn’t bug you to have them so close?” Nick wanted to know. He loved his own parents, but was glad they were still in Texas, in the same suburb he’d grown up in. 

Greg gave a non-committal shrug. “They’re close enough to visit, and far away enough so that I can lead my own life . . . most of the time." 

For a comfortable moment nobody spoke; Starr slipped out of her sandals and flexed her feet, studying the paint on her toenails. “That’s good. I’m glad you’re still in touch with them. Family is important.” 

They all nodded, looking thoughtful. Starr scooped up her sandals and smiled at Greg. “Hey, it’s your turn to roll the recycling out to the curb, but given the crutches . . ." 

“I’ll take an extra round of folding laundry,” Greg offered in an instant bargain. Starr nodded, and headed out to the garage; after a few minutes, Nick came out too, with four empty wine bottles to add to the bin. She watched him do it carefully so they wouldn’t break and spoke to him in a low voice. 

“What’s wrong, Nick? Is this about Randy?” 

Nick didn’t speak until they’d both wrestled the big recycling bin down the driveway and set it out at the curb. Up and down the street were others standing sentinel in a long line of green bins. Nick shot a sidelong look at Starr. “Nah, although I hope we don’t see that idiot again.” 

“Yeah,” Starr agreed, moving closer and slipping an arm around Nick’s shoulders. “So what is it, sweetheart? Are you just tired?” 

“I did something stupid,” Nick admitted in a low voice. “I . . . I flirted.” 

Starr’s eyebrow went up. “Un hunh. You flirted.” 

“I flirted with Greg,” Nick clarified, his expression serious. “And that’s all kinds of wrong, Starr.” 

Starr blinked, trying to understand. She shifted her weight, her bare feet on the cool sidewalk as she tilted her head to look at Nick. “You flirted with Greg,” she repeated softly. 

Nick thinned his lips. “Yeah.” 

“And this is bad because—" she went on, trying to keep from smiling. Nick glanced up at her and shook his head slowly. 

“It’s bad because I’m not gay, okay? Because I’m not going to lead Greg on when nothing’s going to happen in that department. Hell, we both know how easily he gets hurt, and I’ll be damned if I end up breaking his heart!” 

This last came out with such sincere conviction that Starr blinked again, touched to the core of her marshmallow heart by Nick’s dilemma. She drew in a breath and hugged him a little more tightly. “Nick, you may not realize it, but Greg flirts too, honey. He and I tease you all the time, and just because we say things doesn’t mean we follow up on them. The nature of love is pretty broad. Greg knows you’re not gay, but he loves you just the same.” 

Giving him a little shake, Starr added, “In the words of a brilliant boyfriend of mine, don’t overthink it, okay?” 

Nick looked doubtful for a moment. He drew in a breath and hugged Starr, savoring her warmth for a moment before whispering, “Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome. Let’s get inside before my feet freeze!” she giggled. 

*** *** *** 

“You’re kidding, right?” Greg blurted. Starr shook her head and pulled into the first available space in the lot. She climbed out and pulled the crutches from the back of her truck, carrying them over to the passenger side where Greg took them from her. He fell into easy lope beside her towards the clinic. 

“Nope.” 

“He’s actually worried about this? After all our . . um . . . other stuff?” Greg gave his trademark lopsided smile as they reached the glass doors. They slid open and both of them walked into the physical therapy offices. 

Starr shook her head in amusement, her braids swinging. “Hey, this is _Nick_ we’re talking about, hon—I give him credit for a lot of open-mindedness, but he’s still got a ways to go, and you’re one of those blind spots just because you _are_ someone he loves.” 

_“I _am, aren’t I?” Greg murmured wonderingly. “Cool.”__

____

____

Starr flashed a smile at her lover. “You are, and you know it. Only someone who seriously loves you would put up with your Jimmy Neutron pajamas, your Cathy and the Catheters music, your stealing the last of the beer and your snoring. Trust me, it’s love.” 

“I don’t snore. I breathe with authority,” Greg interjected. “All us Sanders do.” 

“Then all you Sanders need Breathe Right strips,” Starr replied breezily. “And here we are, into the safe hands of Mimi.” 

A dark-eyed woman in a pink hospital uniform came over to Greg, her expression gleeful. “Greg! Just the man I wanted to make sweat today!” She took a moment to look over her clipboard. 

“Help me!" Greg pleaded with Starr, his dark eyes wide. “I’ll give you twenty bucks.” 

“No deal,” she told him in a whisper. “I want you back on your own two feet, Lovebunny, so I can do very obscene things to you.” 

“How obscene?” Greg wanted to know, lips nearly touching hers. 

“We need to do it on the hood of my truck.” 

“Ohhhhhhh---" Greg swallowed thickly. “Yeah. For _that,_ ooohhyeah.” 

He kissed her warmly, then turned to face an amused Mimi, who pointed her chin at the crutches. “Okay Mr. Hood Ornament, let’s get moving.” To Starr she added, “You can come get him in about ninety minutes or so.” 

Giggling, Starr waved goodbye to a forlorn looking Greg and made her way back to the truck, settling in behind the wheel. 

She made a phone call, and when it was done, Starr pulled a notebook from her purse, checked off another item on a list titled ‘Sugarbuns Birthday’ and smiled to herself. 

Starr shopped while Greg was at therapy, swinging by Grill of a Lifetime and Home Depot for some productive purchases before returning to the clinic and picking up a very tired, slightly cranky partner. 

He sighed when he climbed in the truck. “Mimi is Satan’s granddaughter, I swear. Human Rights needs to be alerted to her tactics. What’s in the back?” 

“Birthday goodies for Nick—we’ve got to figure out a hiding place for this stuff until Friday,” Starr giggled. “I got him that tool cabinet he wanted so much. It’s gonna be up to him to organize and fill it. And are you sure about the barbeque set?” 

Greg nodded with confidence, “Oh yeah—a barbeque is to a good old boy what fishnets are to a drag queen.” 

The analogy made Starr giggle. “Only in Vegas could you get away with that!” 

“It’s true!” Greg laughed. “You know how he gets about brisket and let’s not even get started on ribs!" 

“I know, I know,” Starr agreed. “I gain three pounds just looking at the sauces he makes. Oh," she added coyly, “speaking of dinner, I booked us a room at the Serengeti for Friday.” 

“The Serengeti!" Greg drew in a breath, “Oh yeah! So I take it there’s going to be a Love Safari to celebrate the Stokes birthday?” 

“Yes, but I want it to be good, so from now until Friday, no nookie. For _any_ of us,” she warned. 

Greg pouted. “Whoah. Don’t you think that’s a little severe?” 

Starr shot him a sidelong look as she pulled out onto the freeway. “Oh get real. You and Nick can get by with no sex for three days—nobody ever died of not getting some, Sanders.” 

“Nooo, but then again, not everybody wakes up with a hot and luscious babe hanging onto them,” he countered with a wry expression. “Nick and I now have some serious entitlement responses in the morning—you know that.” 

“So I’ll just sleep downstairs and avoid temptation.” 

“And how are you going to explain your decision to Nick without revealing the _real_ reason? I can’t wait to hear this," Greg grumbled. 

Starr chewed her lower lip. “I’ll think of something.” 


	11. Chapter 11

As it turned out, the excuse came home with Nick that morning, small, wriggly and smelling of bread dough. Starr gazed at Nick, who looked guilty and then slightly desperate.

“Um, look, she was at the scene I was processing, and although she’s not guilty and not a witness, I just couldn’t _leave_ her there. I mean _look_ at her, guys. She’s so little, and helpless, and you know . . . little--!" Nick pleaded. 

The fuzzy blonde puppy up against his chest snuffled and started to lick his neck; Starr put her hands on her hips. “Nick--" she began warningly. He turned his widest brown-eyed look in Starr’s direction, trying manfully not to beseech her. Greg laughed, shifting on his crutches.

“Priceless, man—you look like that cartoon bulldog begging to keep the kitten, Nick.”

“Mark Anthony!” Starr chided in a great imitation of the woman in the cartoon. Nick laughed sheepishly, but came closer with the puppy.

“I know we never talked about getting a pet, guys, but she’s so tiny, and she just wandered in. Catherine’s guess is that somebody abandoned her near the coffee shop hoping she’d be adopted.”

“--And it worked,” Greg finished. “Always rescuing damsels. At least this one’s clearly grateful.”

“Or she likes your aftershave,” Starr suggested. “Okay, whatever we decide, she’s going to need to be looked over by a vet, at least.”

The closest veternarian was at one of the big pet warehouse stores, and she inspected the puppy with an amused thoroughness as the little dog excitedly tried to divide her attention among the four people in the exam room. With careful hands, Doctor Khaleed inserted the thermometer, making the puppy squeak indignantly. Nick held the dog’s sides while Starr and Greg patted her head and back soothingly.

“From the look of her teeth, I’d say she’s about nine weeks old, and some sort of terrier mix. You’ll definitely need some toys for her to chew, given those canines. Looks to be in good health, but I’d suggest the full set of puppy vaccines and some worming medicine too . . . and we should probably arrange to have her spayed fairly soon as well.”

Starr, Nick and Greg all nodded; no argument there. The puppy tried to look over her shoulder at the thermometer but gave up and simply licked the fingers closest to her tongue. Doctor Khaleen smiled, dimples showing on either side of her mouth. “Any reason why your pet smells like bread?”

“I found her in a bakery,” Nick admitted. “Chewing on a bagel from the bottom tray on a baker’s rack while I was processing a B and E.”

“You’re a policeman?” the vet asked, pulling out the thermometer and checking it. The puppy chuffed a little.

“No ma’am, crime scene investigator.” Nick offered, “Him and me.”

Doctor Khaleed nodded, and glanced at Starr, who shook her head. “Not me. I stay away from crime.”

“I approve,” the vet smiled again. “So—do we have a name for little miss four pounds of unconditional love here?”

“Bagel,” Nick volunteered. “Just because that’s what she was eating.”

“Good thing she wasn’t chowing down on a cockroach,“ Greg murmured in a low voice to Starr, who snickered.

Doctor Khaleed picked up the puppy and examined her once more, gently petting her all the while. “She’s sort of bagel-colored too, so I think it’s a good name. I’m not good at predicting, but I don’t think she’d going to be a very large dog—probably about ten to twelve pounds in adulthood, and her coat feels wiry, like most terriers. We have a good line of puppy food here, and I’d like to see her again for her second round of shots by Friday, if possible.”

They walked out half an hour later with medical records, a puppy bed, food bowls and a bag full of toys. Starr and Greg shared an indulgent look at Nick, who carried the puppy in a small newly purchased traveling crate.

“Worried about another female in the household?” Greg asked gently. 

Starr shook her head. “Nah—I’m willing to share affection, up to a point. Besides, look at Nick—he’s thrilled, just like a little kid.”

“He is,” Greg nodded, “Hey, can we call her an early birthday present and get out of getting him anything more?”

“No,” Starr giggled, and lightly punched his arm.

*** *** ***

It took only two days of separate beds for everyone to begin feeling edgy, and while Starr and Greg understood why, Nick didn’t seem to make the connection, at least not consciously. He kept touching both of them in hugs and pats during the days; so much so that Greg told Starr privately he felt like he’d become Nick’s new wubbie.

“Affection is a good thing—we’re lucky Nick’s open about it,” she’d reminded him, but Greg had sighed.

“I know, but it’s like I told you—hormones on the rise, Cupcake. If we don’t get to Friday I think we’re going to explode. I’m assuming you have a plan for this birthday?”

“I do indeed,” she’d purred, but refused to indulge in any further details, warning him to keep his hands away from himself.

Greg sulked a bit, keeping his frustration low.

He knew Friday would be wonderful, no matter what combination Starr had in mind; she was creative and generous, sexually, which was still overwhelming to him at times.

Greg understood that what he had between himself, Starr and Nick was precious, and that all three of them were working to keep it strong. They aired their fears and jealousies; they consulted each other; they talked, often.

And Greg gratefully appreciated that although his home was unconventional, it _was_ d home, with all the security, love and comfort he craved.

Still, the temptation of Nick prickled a little, and the longing to go beyond the few kisses and caresses allowed had him sensitive to every little bit of affection Nick showered on him. Greg tortured himself a bit, wondering if his bed partner was even aware of the flirtatious undercurrent he gave off, and more specifically how it affected those around him.

He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind and focused on the basics of day-to-day living: physical therapy, backlogged paperwork and cooking, biding his time until Friday afternoon, when Starr came into the kitchen, dry cleaning bags over one shoulder. Greg smiled at her. “Tummy bug all gone?” he asked loudly, hoping Nick, who was in the living room would hear.

“Oh totally!” she played along. “In fact, I’m SO recovered that I think we all should go out to dinner at the Kilamanjaro over at the Serengeti. What do you think?”

Gret took the dry cleaning from her and squinted at the topmost outfit through the plastic. “I think I wanna see you in this. With no panties on underneath it.”

“Lovebunny!” Starr chided, but she was blushing. Greg draped the garments over a kitchen chair and pulled her into his arms, his mouth going to the soft, silky skin of the side of her neck.

“I vant to gif you a hickie!” his worst Bela Lugosi impersonation was smothered against her throat. Starr squealed but her arms slid around him hungrily, and she molded her body to his for a long warm moment, her hands coming to tightly grip his ass.

“Danger, danger,“ Greg growled, “Hydralics activated!“

“Ummm, no kidding. You’ve got a master piston going, sweetheart!” 

Just then the skittering of puppy toenails on the linoleum floor alerted them both to Bagel, who circled around them, barking happily. Greg and Starr looked up to see Nick smirking at them. “Oh hey--can anybody join in this love pileup?”

“Happy birthday darling!” Starr cooed and gently peeled herself away from Greg to hug Nick. Bagel circled around again, more slowly this time, sniffing shoes happily.

“Thanks,” Nick smiled over Starr’s shoulder at Greg. “So, about those birthday plans . . .”

“You heard that, huh?” Greg commented with a grin. “Dinner at the Serengeti, so we have to dress up.”

Nick’s face fell for a moment, but Greg held up the dry cleaning bag with Starr’s dress in it, and he perked up again. “Okay then. And I’m ditto on the panties thing.”

“You two are ganging up on me,” Starr pretended to grumble. “Sex fiends.”

“And proud of it,” Greg assured her. “After all, none of us have to go into work tomorrow.”

For a moment they all grinned at each other, and then Starr bent down to scoop up Bagel. The little dog snuffled Starr’s cleavage, tail wagging. Greg laughed. “Hey! That’s OUR job!”

“I’m totally drawing the line at anything with puppy love,” Nick snorted, shaking his head. “Think she’ll be okay if we board her up in the kitchen while we’re gone?”

“Oh sure,” Greg assured him. “A few chew toys, her puppy bed, some paper to piddle on and she should be good for the night.”

*** *** ***

The Serengeti was naturally, Africa themed, and actually more subdued than most of the hotel/casinos on the Strip. It boasted an inner courtyard that contained a few Thompson’s gazelles and zebra amid a stylishly designed and award-winning animal habitat. The Kilimanjaro restaurant was on the top floor, and commanded an impressive 360 view of the city amid the tropical palms, and faux leopard skin and elephant tusk décor.

Nick sat in a semi-circle booth looking out over the panorama of Vegas between Starr and Greg, feeling mellow and incredibly happy. They’d had the Veldt special—T bone steaks all around, and managed to go through a bottle and a half of wine. Starr had brought some of the presents with them and the specially catered dessert was his favorite, chocolate raspberry cake.

At the moment, he had just finished opening a few of the presents that Greg had carried up from the car, and each one had brought a fresh surge of affection as he did so. 

“A gift certificate to Barcelona Boot Company? Man, that’s too much, Greg!”

“No it’s not,” Greg argued back gently. “You deserve to be indulged some, dude—it’s your birthday! Everyone should be pampered a little on a birthday.” He paused and added, “And remember that for _my_ birthday, okay?”

“And mine!” Starr laughed sweetly. She leaned against Nick in the booth, sighing happily, her expression content. Nick slid an arm around her and hugged her a bit closer. Her warmth did very good things to him.

Now he was feeling more than mellow.

Carefully Nick slid his other arm around Greg and hugged him as well, basking in the pressure of two bodies, one on either side of him in the semi-darkened booth, sighing happily. “I love you guys,” he softly confessed.

“Well we love you too,” Starr whispered back tenderly. “A whole damned lot, Nicholas Andrew Stokes.”

“Yeah,” Greg added in a low voice. “We do. You’re a great guy, Nick—you’re funny and honest and considerate and I’m glad you’re a part of my life, you know? Because when I’m not strong—you are.”

Nick tightened his hug around them both, blinking in earnest now. He wasn’t ashamed of being sentimental—it came with being a Texan, he knew—but the quiet love in Greg’s voice hit him hard. He managed to rasp out, “Nah, I’m not strong, Greggo—just too stubborn to give up.”

“And thank God for it,” chimed in Starr. She kissed the side of his face, on the sensitive spot just in front on his ear. Nick gave a little shiver of pleasure, and emboldened, Starr slid a hand along his lean thigh under the table. “Listen, Birthday Boy, we have another surprise for you.”

“I don’t think I can take too many more,“ Nick admitted, turning to give Greg one more squeeze. “Almost time to catch a cab, because I don’t think any of us should be driving.”

“We’re staying here tonight,” Greg told him with a grin. “Wanna take this party up to the Jungle Room seventeen oh eight, Elvis?”

The waitress glided by, returning the bill folder with Greg’s credit card receipt, which he pocketed. Nick laughed, white teeth flashing in the candlelight. “You’re kidding!”

“Nnnnnnnope,” Starr chuckled, her fingers gliding along the inside of Nick’s thigh now. “Greg and I are kidnapping you for some primitive love rituals, Sugarbuns.”

“Well hot damn, just when I didn’t think this birthday could get any better!” Nick enthused, “Let’s go!”


	12. Chapter 12

In a warm, happy cluster they collected the giftbags, thanked the staff of the Kilimanjaro and made their way to the glass elevators of the Serengeti. The wine made them mellow, and along with that was the sweet comfort of familiarity. Starr pinned Nick to one wall and purred when Greg pressed close behind, the three of them aware of their mutual arousal.

“Ohhhyeahhh,” Nick groaned, “missed this . . .”

“You’re not the only one,” Greg replied over Starr’s shoulder, his hands moving to encircle her waist. “This dress has been driving me nuts all night.”

“This lil old thing?” Starr drawled out, wriggling between the two men and savoring the blatant responsiveness of their bodies. The elevator descended smoothly, bringing them to the seventeenth floor, the doors rolling open.

For a moment none of them moved; the hallway was quiet and empty as the elevator stayed open. Finally Starr squirmed free and sauntered out. She stepped out in the hallway, looking back at both Nick and Greg, then with a quick, sultry move she pulled the thin straps of her dress off her bare shoulders, baring herself to the waist. Stretching her arms up Starr laughed and posed half-naked for a moment, sultry and sweet. “Happy birthday!“ came her croon.

“Oh Jesus!” Nick growled, charging forward, pulling Greg along with him through the doors. Starr laughed and darted away to an alcove with a recessed door in it. She fumbled for the card key, nearly making it when Nick slithered up behind her, arms wrapping around her waist. “Inside!” came his order.

Greg managed to get the door open; the bedside lamp was already on, revealing a beautiful suite in beige, gold and green, still african-themed. A few suitcases were under the desk already, and Nick glanced around, pleased. “You guys have been plotting this . . ."

“Oh yes, Birthday Boy,” Starr laughed, leading him towards the bedroom. “You’re helpless, so just surrender now and let us have our evil ways with you.”

He looked from her to Greg and gave a helplessly happy sigh. Taking that for the aquiesence it was, Starr reached for Nick’s fly as Greg stepped behind him, reaching around to work the shirt buttons open. “You’re in good hands, Nick. Very good hands,” he murmured affectionately.

Nick closed his eyes. “Oh damn, yeah.”

They stripped him down lingeringly, setting Nick’s clothes aside on one of the chairs, and when he was naked, Starr cupped his face in her hands and kissed him until his tension faded a bit. She pulled back and looked at Greg, who was smirking at them. “You’re overdressed, Lovebunny.”

“Just admiring the views,” he replied slowly, pulling his tie off. “And anyway, _you’re_ still partially dressed too, Cupcake.”

Starr tugged Nick to the bed; he let himself be lightly shoved to the mattress, his grin an endearing blend of boyishness and desire. Starr turned to Greg and took his hands. “Hold these while I slip out of this,“ she ordered with a giggle, placing his palms against her breasts.

Greg groaned. “Dee-lighted to!”

She shimmied her hips, pulling the pink lace dress down to reveal a delicate gold chain around her waist, and an impossibly tiny pink thong barely covering her curls.

Nick had one hand behind his head as he lay back on the mattress, his other hand lighly squeezing the base of his cock. “Gawwwwwdd . . .“ he muttered. Starr took her time undressing Greg, pausing for kisses and caresses in a sensual show that Nick seemed to appreciate, judging by his hot-eyed attention.

Starr slid onto the bed on one side of Nick and stared at him. “Birth-days mean spank-ings,” she told him with determination. 

Nick laughed. “Oh you think you’re going to spank me, do you?”

“Nope. _Both_ of us are going to spank you,” she cheerfully informed him. Greg had thrown himself onto the other side of Nick, not quite touching him. Nick glanced over his shoulder, considering Starr’s words.

“I don’t suppose I could bribe you out of this,” he mused. “You know, offer you something in exchange for not paddling me this year.”

“Not a chance in hell,” Greg murmured. “It’s fair game on the tushie, dude—with your permission,” he added gently. Nick held his glance, and for a moment they stared at each other in the soft light of the bedside lamp, not speaking.

Nick seemed to reach some sort of decision, and gave one slow nod. “Tonight . . . okay, just for tonight I’m good with almost anything,” he sighed, his expression unreadable.

Greg felt a surge of pure heat roll down his stomach.

Starr squealed, and immediately pounced, peppering his face with kisses, her expression sweet. “Roll over, Sugarbuns—it’s spanking time!”

“Thirty-seven. If we divide them up evenly, that’s eighteen and a half smacks from each of us!” Greg calculated briskly, just to talk and say something. “Plenty of paddling fun!”

“Greg, how can anybody do a half-smack?” Starr wanted to know as she pushed Nick again. He reluctantly rolled over to show off his back and ass, both of which were lean and muscled. Starr slid a reverent hand along his spine. “Damn it, Nicky . . . I want to sketch you all over again.”

“Not _now,_ ” Greg told her softly. She looked up at him, aware of the gentle tension in his voice, and nodded. Rising up on her knees, Starr let her fingers slide along Nick’s warm skin to the tight curve of the nearest cheek . . . 

. . . and smacked. It was light, but Nick looked over his shoulder, annoyed. “Ow.”

“Just warming up,“ Starr informed him. “Gotta get you primed, you know.”

“You’re going to pay for this, Cupcake,“ Nick promised, even as he grinned, resting his cheek on his arms folded under him. “And you too, Greggo.”

“Oh yeah?” following this taunt came another smack, this time from Greg, who struck harder than Starr. Nick swallowed a wince.

He throbbed. 

Nick tried to lay quietly through the smacks and giggles and counted strokes, but the heat and tingle of his torture sent pleasurable little shocks all through his system, each slap against his ass made his cock flex pleasurably against the bedspread.

It wasn’t the pain that was driving him crazy—the pain was minimal—it was the . . . teamwork.

Both of them working him over.

Nick rocked his hips, rubbing a little now against the mattress, aroused and restless. He’d been so preoccupied with the new puppy that he hadn’t much thought about much else, but his body was reminding him of what he had come to crave in the last few months.

The spanking ended, leaving his ass decidedly warm now; looking over his shoulder, he pretended to glare at both Greg and Starr as he licked his lips. “Not hurtin’ you know.”

“Not meant to hurt,” Starr told him in a sultry tone. She pushed to make him roll over and Nick did, slightly self-conscious. 

That was when she produced Greg’s tie, and lightly dragged the end of it along Nick’s bare thighs in a playful stroke of silk. “Now that the spanking is through, we need to kiss you and make it all better . . . “ she drawled sweetly. “But no peeking!”

“Oh now hey,” came his automatic protest, “Starr . . .”

“We’d never hurt you,” Greg broke in softly, his voice as low and seductive as Starr’s had been. Nick turned to look at him, and for a long moment they gazed at each other. “Promise,” Greg added.

Nick drew in a breath, and slowly closed his eyes. Starr bent over his suspine body and kissed him while Greg slipped the tie around his closed lids and knotted it gently just over his right ear. They both pulled back to look at Nick’s body between them on the bed, and flashed quick grins at each other.

“Just lie back and enjoy yourself, Birthday Boy!" Starr crooned, and they began.

Greg took his time, all too aware that this might be his only chance to lavish attention on the body under his hands and lips. He stroked the hard lines of Nick’s torso, caressing the long-admired muscles and satiny skin there, dimly aware of Starr kissing Nick deeply.

Moving with care, Greg ran his fingers along well-defined abs, and toyed with the thin line of fur that trailed from Nick’s navel down into the thicker curls between his thighs. The answering tremble emboldened him, and Greg continued his gentle caresses, skirting around the glorious rise of Nick’s cock as it throbbed. He focused on touching firmly enough not to tickle, but lightly enough to be felt. He glanced at Starr, who was kissing her way down Nick’s neck now, pulling her hair back as she did so.

Greg motioned silently for her to slide away from the bed. She did so, giggling, and Greg did as well. They both looked down at Nick on the bed as he spoke up. “Guys?”

He shifted his head from side to side, his anxiety clear even with the blindfold on.

“Shhhh,” Starr soothed him. “Just mixing things up a little, Sugarbuns. More fun if you can’t tell who’s who.”

She shifted around to the foot of the bed then went back to her original place as Greg did the same. They both climbed back on the mattress and resumed their slow and delicate touches along Nick’s body, working in tandem along his torso, bending to kiss and lick his nipples.

 

Nick groaned, loudly.

Waves of hot and cold rolled through his body, and he clenched his hands along his sides, forcing them to stay there instead of reaching blindly for his lovers. With every kiss of theirs along his skin he shivered, and kept his eyes closed tightly under the tie all the better to focus on the sensations.

So good. Almost painfully so. Nick felt his cock rise and throb to his thudding heartbeat, pleasure in each anticipatory pulse.

His mouth was dry, and for a weird moment he pictured himself back in the Plexiglas coffin, naked and on show for everyone at the lab. Imagining them all watching, open-mouthed as Starr and Greg licked him . . . 

“Oh shit---” he whispered as a hand encircled the base of his prick, squeezing it tightly. The pressure was perfect, holding him back, and Nick gave another groan, this time deeper and huskier. His hips rocked up as he gave up trying to think and just let himself _feel_ everything.

Lips again, only this time Nick felt them along his stomach, moving around his belly button, tongues gliding wetly over his skin. A maddening little trickle of precum rolled down his cock, only to be touched and rubbed into the heavy velvet of his hot skin. 

“Like that?” came a whisper. He couldn’t tell who it was.

“Yeah. Gawd, you’re driving me outta my fuckin’ mind here . . . “ Nick whimpered as his fingers dug into the bedspread. A little chuckle was his only answer. Restlessly he rolled his face from side to side, trying to breathe normally.

Hands touched his thighs, gently toyed with his silky balls; the firm grip still held the base of his throbbing cock and Nick was grateful; without it he knew he’d have blown his wad already. 

Then the licking started. Nick tensed, his abs flexing hard as two tongues slid around the side of his turgid shaft, the wet heat of them shocking. He thrust up helplessly, feeling the mouths glide down and then up over the thick sensitive head of his prick. 

Nick felt the tongue flick of their kiss there and his nipples ached in savage response to the image he saw in his mind, hot and decadent: Starr and Greg each mouthing him, rising up to wetly kiss each other right at the top of his cock—

He panted, reaching out for them now, wanting, _needing_ to touch, but on each side his hands were caught by theirs, grips encircling his wrists. Starr hummed with delight, and Greg joined in; Nick gave a gasp as their tongues each circled around the head of his cock.

They sucked him together in slow deliberate alternation, and when the grip along the base of his cock loosened, Nick couldn’t hold back any longer. His hips arched off the bed as he came in thick, eager sprays, his frenzied cry echoing in the room. 

The next few moments were quiet, and full of a strange and beautiful tension. Greg broke it by undoing the blindfold and bending to kiss Nick on the lips. Nick opened his mouth, his arms coming up to grab his lover and pull him closer, tongue sliding deep into the kiss. Starr gently licked Nick’s shaft clean, and used a corner of the bedspread to wipe his stomach, smiling as she watched them kiss.

Starr thought they were beautiful; that this moment was beautiful, and long overdue. She knew they’d had a bond from the moment she’d seen them together; a bond forged through a hell of a lot tragedy and a long-held camaraderie rising now to this moment of honest desire.

Not wanting to interrupt, but not wanting to be left out either, she settled in along Nick’s side and pressed against him. He broke from kissing Greg to slide one arm around her, and gave a slow, almost painful sigh.

“You okay, Nick baby?” she ventured in a soft whisper. He blinked a little, his smile tremulous, but his hug strong.

“Yeah. Yeah I am. Just . . . dealin’ with it.”

Greg propped himself up on one elbow and glanced at Starr, his gaze slightly wary. She kissed Nick and sighed. “Well okay then. I hope you don’t mind if I do the nasty with Greg because sucking you off has me pretty damned hot right now.”

Nick gave a groan of amused frustration but grinned. He pulled her across his body and shot a glance at Greg. “Up to you to satisfy the wife, Greggo."

“Yessss---" Greg laughed warmly, and reached for Starr, pulling her from Nick’s chest into his arms. Obligingly Nick shifted over to give them room on the mattress. Starr melded to Greg and kissed him, her whole focus into it.

Greg took his time, nibbling and kissing Starr, deliberately avoiding her nipples as he toyed with everything else. She could taste Nick on him, and squealed in frustration, finally threatening him with bodily harm, adding, “I know where your mouth has been, Greg Sanders, and now it’s _my_ turn!”

She wriggled under Greg, rocking her hips up against him, long hands down his bare damp flanks, her teeth nipping along his neck lustfully. Greg shifted himself, reaching for the lube already sitting on the nightstand. A few minutes later he thrust into Starr, groaning with raw pleasure, his mouth finding hers. They moved in an ever-increasing rhythm, lost in each other, and Starr wound her long, long legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.

Greg rocked into her, savoring each exquisite stroke, feeling wild and urgent, the heat building quickly. He bent down, mouth brushing Starr’s breasts, and lightly, gently, Greg nipped one of the hard buds, making her thrash under him, squealing happily.

At the same moment he felt the unexpected pinch of teeth behind him and the joyous shock of realizing Nick had just leaned over and _bitten_ his ass sent Greg into critical overload. He growled in a wild cry and buried his cock deeper into Starr, gushing heavily, his thrusts wet and hard.

They slept heavily after that, tangled together in a lover’s knot of cooling bodies and satisfaction.


	13. Chapter 13

Starr woke up to find Nick gazing up at the ceiling, one arm behind his head. She rolled over to him, nothing it was three in the morning as she kissed his bare shoulder. “Hey there.”

“Hey,” he replied softly, managing a quick smile at her. Greg was snoring softly behind her, and they both grinned again at the familiar sound.

Nick’s expression shifted a little then, and Starr spoke once more. “Wanna talk about it?”

“You two—I can’t believe both of you—and that I--"

“Both of us love you, spiritually, emotionally and physically, yep. And we wanted to show it tonight,” Starr confessed, feeling a little shaky inside. “If you’re looking for someone to blame, blame me, okay? It was all _my_ idea to double up on you, Sugarbuns.”

Nick shook his head. “I’m not mad. I’m not really sure what I am, but mad isn’t it, Starr. What we had last night was good. Damned good. Hell, fuckin’ _amazing_ if I’m going to be completely honest. That kind of lovin’ doesn’t just happen, and I know that. It comes out of whole pile of things, and some of them . . . well, some of them are things I haven’t really thought about.”

“Like loving Greg?”

Nick blushed, dropping his gaze down to the mattress, but he softly responded. “Yeaaah, like that. Does this make me homosexual? Bisexual? Because I don’t know.”

“Nick--" Starr sighed, pulling him closer. “Do you _need_ a label? Come on! You loved the both of us last night because of _who_ we are, not _what_ we are. If you want to go by strict, strict definitions, then you’re in love with two men. I may have the tits and hormones of a woman, but my DNA still says male.”

“Yeah, well you’re about as male as I am blonde,” Nick replied with a laugh. He took in a deep breath. “And if I’m with two males, then what the hell. I’m gay.”

“You are SO not gay,” Greg’s voice announced. “Sorry dude, but no. Not gay.” He rose up and leaned on Starr’s body, his hair a tousled mess, but his expression impish. “You don’t even have a lisp or anything.”

“Well neither do you!” Nick shot back.

“That’s because I’m bi, not gay. I have more latitude and the best pick of the dating pool,” Greg pointed out. “Not that I’m dating anymore—having a husband and a wife tends to keep me busy, you know.”

“I’m not your husband, Greg!” Nick protested, even though he was laughing. “No way!”

“Well you sure ain’t my wife. My point is that you are most emphatically not gay, all right? I’ve never seen you scope out any guy’s ass, or talk about sex in any connotation other than het, Nick. Down to the core you’re pretty wired to women.”

“Greg--" Nick blushed scarlet in the dim light; Starr could see it all the way down his neck. “Things happened between us last night, and they were—well, they were good. _Really_ good, and—"

Greg held up an imperious hand, silencing him. “Look, do you like getting your dick sucked?”

Starr bit back a laugh; Nick had gone even more red. “What the hell kinda question is THAT?”

“I’m taking that to be a yes. A guy thing," Greg added in an aside to Starr, who nodded. “So, getting your salami serviced ranks high for you. I’m right there too, no problem, very big on the oral. Now here’s the point, Nick. Does it matter—really--if it’s me OR Starr doing it, if it’s done with enthusiasm and love?”

The question, sincere and soft, hung in the air of the bedroom, and the seconds seem to drag under the weight of it. Nick lifted his head, expression pensive. “Greg . . . when you put it like that, then no, it doesn’t make a difference. The two of you are good for me, and good TO me in ways I’m still figuring out, because I know I don’t deserve either one of you. But just because you’re easy with doing me doesn’t mean that I am with you.”

Greg smiled. It was sweet and heartbreaking and beautiful all at the same time. He rubbed his cheek against Starr’s shoulder, his voice husky. “This from the naked man I’ve kissed and made love to, huh? Nick, I said it before and I meant it—I’m good with whatever you’re comfortable with because I love you. Nothing’s ever going to go any further than you want it to. We’re all in this together, and that works for me in so many incredible ways, all right?”

Another pause filled the bedroom. Starr held her breath, feeling caught between the two of them, sensing the undercurrents shifting through their interlinked personal spaces. 

Then Nick gave a slow laugh. “Damn it, every time I think I know anything—about YOU or ME or US, it changes. Just let me say this, okay? Last night . . . well, it was incredible. And for the record, I liked ALL of it. That means not only everything Starr was doing, but also the parts gettin’ done by you, and kissing you, Greggo. And the _only_ reason it was so hellfire good was because it WAS you! It’s not as . . . Geez, it’s not as freaky or strange as I mighta thought before.” 

For once Greg looked surprised; he blinked uncertainly, and Starr grinned, lying down to enjoy the show over her as both Nick and Greg leaned towards each other. “For real?”

It was Nick’s turn to look a little exasperated. He reached one arm out and cupped the back of Greg’s neck, pulling him forward and kissing him. Starr whooped softly as a surge of tenderness and heat shot through her.

Finally. 

She laughed aloud at Greg’s slightly dizzy expression when the kiss broke off; Nick looked smug. “So what I figure is that because I love you, this is one case where gender doesn’t really matter.”

“Right,” Greg replied softly, licking his lips. “Good conclusion. I fully support your findings. Let’s do some research.”

“Maybe I should just watch," Starr teased gently. Both men glanced down at her, and Greg dropped his face to lick the soft slope of one breast. Nick slid a hand down her stomach, stroking slowly. “Oooooh, or maybe not--"

“It’s definitely a party of three,” Greg told her sweetly, “although the flavors switch around.”

*** *** ***

After a lazy morning of slow sensuality, a long soak in the Jacuzzi tub and a decadent room service breakfast, three very relaxed roommates made their way home to a minor disaster area.

Bagel came racing to the garage door, tail wagging so hard she was nearly spinning in circles. In her wake lay a path of destruction that included shredded wet newspaper, toppled houseplants and a former leather high heel now reduced to a pulpy, tooth-pierced mess. In the kitchen, the plywood barrier had fallen, knocking over the water bowl and flooding the kitchen linoleum.

“Looks like someone managed the maximum of chaos in the minimum of time,” Greg sighed. “Your Bagel is toast, Nicky.”

“She’s just a baby!" Nick protested. Starr moved to pick up the drool-covered shoe, whimpering a little herself.

“Four hundred dollar chew toy . . ."

“I’ll get you new ones,” Nick offered quickly. “Any kind you like, Cupcake. I promise.”

Starr glanced at the puppy; Bagel’s tail had not stopped wagging for a moment. Gently Starr set the ruined footwear down and picked the puppy up, receiving long happy licks and snuffles from her neck to her ear. “Oh wellllll, it’s just a shoe," came the resigned, giggly sigh. “Let’s see the rest of the damage.”

Apparently in her lonely hours, Bagel had figured out the stairs, but wasn’t big enough to manage any of the furniture or chairs yet. She had nosed her way into the walk-in closet, where all of the shoes were in disarray.

And she’d made a nest from one of Nick’s shirts near the clothes hamper.

“Looks like you’ve got a groupie puppy,” Greg laughed. “She’s definitely calling you the Alpha male!”

“It’s all about the pheromones,” Starr laughed. “Something we love about you too, darling.”

“Yeah well I guess you’re all scent marked as mine by now,” Nick snorted, and began to clean up the disarray in the closet.

*** *** ***

The weeks went by, August drifting away, and then September bringing some minor relief from the heat. Starr sketched a picture of Greg asleep on the sofa with Bagel neatly snuggled up on his chest; Nick Xeroxed a copy to pin up in the Break Room at work. There were the usual comments about Greg’s taste in females, and a chide or two about dallying with underage ones, but the coos and ahs from the women in the lab seemed to make up for it. 

Greg had the pins taken out of his ankle and was proclaimed fit once more; a fact that both Starr and Nick felt compelled to check out in a far more intimate fashion beginning in the hot tub and ending in a playful, somewhat damp and happy heap on the sofa in the living room.

Starr added yoga classes to her fitness routine, and occasionally did asanas on the back patio, a long lean figure in a tie-dye unitard, hair pulled back in a ponytail. Bagel usually wandered out too, and hunted crickets through the grass to be helpful.

Since being with Greg and Nick, Starr had found herself needing a change in her hormone dosage; there was enough testosterone in the house now for her to cut down on it in her pills. For a while she was hyper, but gradually her system settled down, and she did as well, quietly happy in ways that spilled over into her days.

 

Some of the cases had gotten harder; emotionally both Greg and Nick found themselves more weary than they’d ever been before, and part of it was the ongoing necessity of staying objective now. Neither man was any less dedicated to pursuing the truth through the evidence, but the effort of keeping their hearts and souls safe took work these days, and both admitted to each other that the first worrying signs of burnout were there.

The changed status between them was still new as well, and Greg made it a point not to push. He was content; pleased to enjoy Nick’s gentle explorations and caresses. One thing both Starr and Greg knew was that Nick Stokes didn’t commit easily, but when he did, it was a complete and honest bond. 

It was a joy though, to play in bed, three together, or one on one, with the easy understanding that even then, no one was left out. Not that things were completely perfect of course; as with all relationships there were still irritations and issues to be worked out.

Greg snored. Nick showered compulsively when stressed. Starr spent hours in her studio, forgetting to eat unless called to meals. All of them shirked chores when they thought they could get away with it. Some days nobody picked up the phone, and at other times, the algae in the fish tank grew into a thick wall of green.

But somehow things always worked out, and it seemed there were always two ready to take care of the third, no matter where the carousel stopped. 

*** *** ***

Starr came by to pick them up swinging by the lab around five in the morning, just a few hours off shift from the Cock Pit, and looking good in her blue cocktail dress with the lace bustle sitting nicely over her trim backside. Greg whistled, and she blushed, standing a little self-consciously in the doorway of the break room.

“Oooh, extra girly tonight—special occasion?” he cooed.

“In case you forgot, we’re doing holiday portraits tonight?” Starr glared at him. “We have that appointment with Mrs. Tufko in about an hour?”

Greg grinned more widely and held his hands out in a gesture of surrender. “I’m teasing, I’m teasing. Already have the suit and tie in my locker, okay? Me, I’m good to go—Nick’s the one you need to round up.”

“Where is he? What do you mean?” Starr asked in a worried tone, but Greg moved to take her in his arms, speaking softly.

“He’s been crawling around the engine block of a Kia most of the night, looking for anything to help us find a murderer, so he’s going to be dirty, smelly and frustrated.”

“Mmmmm.” Starr laughed softly, “Not in a good mood, huh?”

“He’ll cheer up once he hits the showers,” Greg predicted, and kissed her nose.

This gesture of affection didn’t go unnoticed; Catherine and Brass broke off their discussion on the other side of the glass walls and stared for a moment.

“Damn, and I was so sure it was Nick,” Catherine sighed. “But I knew it had to be ONE of them.”

“That’s not exactly a romantic kiss,” Brass pointed out in a low voice. “Unless you’re into noses.”

Catherine laughed. “Are you kidding? Look at their body language; their _obvious_ comfort. No, those two have got it going on, I’m sure of it.”

Brass looked unconvinced, but he said nothing and the two of them walked on. Oblivious to the observation, Starr spoke softly to Greg, her smile sweetly dangerous.

“I got hit on a lot at the bar tonight; I think the dressy dress got a few of the regulars a little worked up.”

“Oh reeeeally?” Greg murmured back, not letting her go. “And you taunted them?”

“Maybe a little,” Starr confessed. “But all the comments about the bow on my ass put me in an alternative frame of mind, so to speak. Think you or Nick can find a way to help a girl out?”

The look he shot her was filled with enough concentrated heat to melt glass, and Starr gave a little squeak as Greg let his hands slide down her slender back to the loops of lace.

“Mmmyeah, this has been a while in coming! I shall be your knight in latex armor.” He swore to her, his voice slightly raspy. “Ohhhyesssss.”

Starr giggled. “What about Nick?”

“I’ll be his knight too—but I don’t think he’s anywhere near ready for you know, penetration,” Greg told her solemnly. “And anyway, it’s better to receive than to give, in that circumstance.”

She would have said something more, but someone walked in, and self-consciously they let go of each other, stepping back. Mandy looked over at them and smiled. “Wow, LOVE the dress! What a cute bow in the back!”

“Thanks,” Starr bit back a grin. “We’re getting pictures taken tonight, so we’ll all have something to give our moms for Christmas.”

“Oh nice!” Mandy nodded. “Moms are _really_ hard to shop for, too.”

“Oh yeah,” Greg agreed. “Gift cards can get you off the hook only so far.”

“Tell me about it,” came the commiseration. “Maybe I ought to consider pictures too.”

The chitchat went on for a while and eventually Mandy left. Greg took Starr down the hallway towards the garage, and pushed open the door for her to the glorious vision of Nick Stokes just unzipping his jumpsuit to his waist. He looked up and managed a smile, white and bright against the engine oil smudges all over his face and hands. “Hey guys! Starr, whoa---you look spectacular, babe!”

“Oh Nicky!” she replied, watching him put his hands at his waist, making his jumpsuit widen to reveal his bare, sweat-glistened chest. Beside her, Greg gave a little moan of his own.

“Blueboy centerfold fantasy again?” Starr teased him under her breath; Greg nodded.

Oblivious to the exchange, Nick sauntered over and sighed. “Shoot, we have that photo thing tonight, don’t we?”

“You _know_ we do," Starr growled, but Nick turned a grin to her.

“Hey, just teasing, I remember we do. Give me about half an hour to get all cleaned up and we can all sit pretty for the photographer before going home, okay?”

“Did you find something?” Greg asked, brightening. Nick nodded, and gestured to a tray on the counter, where a few scraps of rag were carefully bagged and labeled.

“Sure did. I’m betting that those bits of cotton tee match up with the ripped section on our vic’s shirt. It’s a start at putting him at the scene, and that’s good enough for me.”

Starr nodded, and Greg looked pleased; he and Nick bumped knuckles in satisfaction.


	14. Chapter 14

Nick cleaned up nicely, and when he and Greg came out of the locker room together, Starr fought the urge to applaud. Instead she smiled happily, watching them walk up the hall amid a few admiring glanced and thumbs up from various passers by along the way. Starr was sure the ZZTop song had been written just for her two, and her smirk widened when they finally reached her.

“Will this do?” Nick asked, turning around for her inspection.

Starr nodded. Greg, not to be outdone, managed a fashion model’s catwalk turn and arched an eyebrow, making her laugh.

Nick looked All-American in a navy sports coat with pale blue shirt and Longhorns tie. Greg had opted for his grey suit with lighter grey shirt and a tie of heavy burgundy silk. Starr thought they both looked good enough to eat, and promised herself she probably would, later.

With that in mind, she linked an arm with each man and they moved down the hallway, grinning.

They passed by the various labs and made their way out to the lobby, moving into the dawn of a new day, leaving smiles and not a few speculations in their wake back at the lab.

Tufko’s Studio was in a loft on a side street from the Strip, tucked away in the upper floors over a pizzeria. Mrs. Tufko was a slim, elegant woman with white hair done in a severe bun at the nape of her thin neck, and armfuls of bangle bracelets that clattered with every gesture she made. She came down to the lobby when they rang the buzzer, and opened the door for them, nodding in approval.

“I’m so glad you could take the first appointment; I do love to start my day with the dawn,” she told them in a deep and husky voice. Starr shot her a questioning look, but Mrs. Tufko gestured to the elevator and they all stepped inside. She pushed the button for the second floor.

The loft was airy and large, with two studios and a cubical office space at one end. Mrs. Tufko led them to the first studio and held out her hand, shaking each of theirs in turn, her bracelets jingling. “All right, my name is Maria Zolanda Irina Tufko, but please call me Maria. I have been taking photographs since nineteen sixty three and I’ve gotten much better over the years. These," she waved to one brick wall covered with frames, “Are a few of my more recognizable clients. I would like to take your portraits and make you happy with them, so please tell me what you _don’t_ want.”

Greg was looking over the wall of famous faces, so Nick spoke up in the lull. “Well, I don’t want to look stupid. Or uncomfortable.”

Maria nodded. “Both reasonable, and very common. Having one’s photo taken can be as stressful as going to the dentist for some people.”

“I don’t want to squint,” Starr admitted. “Or look . . . posed.”

“Stiff and formal,” Maria agreed. “Yes, that’s something else that can be hard to overcome. But I sense a very good karma within the three of you, and we can work with that, yes?”

“Yes,” Greg blurted, turning from the wall of photos to look at her. “These pictures—these are incredible!”

Maria Tufko gave a small, pleased shrug. “The subjects were incredible; I merely caught that as best I could.”

She gestured to the studio, and up on the dais was a sofa and a pair of comfortable chairs. “Come, sit. We will have tea, and you can tell me how the three of you fell in love.”

For a moment nobody spoke. Nick cleared his throat, preparing to deny it, but Starr took his hand. Greg glanced uncertainly from one face to another, seeking direction. Maria Tufko laughed softly. “I have embarrassed all of you and did not mean to. In my line of work and in my years I’ve seen so very much, and I’ve lost the ability to hide my interest behind tact. Let us relax a moment and talk of your pictures.”

She’d already had water boiling it seemed, and in a very short time, Nick, Greg and Starr found themselves seated on the sofa while Maria took one of the chairs opposite. She gracefully poured for everyone and took hers with her as she sank back into the chair and settled in. “Better?”

Starr gave a nod; both men shrugged a little. Nick added more sugar to his tea. Greg cleared his throat and spoke. “So. You . . . know.”

Maria laughed softly. “You show it with your body language and unspoken posture. Other people might miss it, or assume a connection of two with a third trailing along, but from where I am looking—"

“This isn’t good,” Nick muttered ruefully. “We’ve tried to be . . . careful.”

The woman across from them shrugged her thin shoulders. “It’s a pity that you feel you must be. I myself find it a charming balance. Families are made up of more than two people, as are friendships and nearly every other social bond in our society. Why not marriage and love? For those who have different needs, why not?”

“Because the law tends to get picky about that,” Greg replied pragmatically. “Even in most other countries it’s not common.”

“And in most religions,” Starr sighed.

Maria laughed. “So start your own. Isn’t this the country of religious freedom?”

The whimsy of her suggestion was enough to get even Nick to smile for a moment, and seeing it, Maria leaned forward a little. “That’s better. You have a good smile, you know. What is your name?”

“Nick. Nick Stokes.”

“Nick-Nick. I think that is what I shall call you,” Maria told him. “I am old enough to be your grandmother so you will indulge me. And you, young lady?”

“Starr Jankowitz.”

“And twinkle you do! Little Starr it is. And finally you?”

“Greg Sanders,” Greg replied, looking worried. Maria noted that the other two were hanging on her words, and she took her time in setting her teacup down on the coffeetable between them.

“Like the colonel—but no, that would be too cruel. Gregovitch, I think, for you are the youngest here. So—Nick-Nick, Little Starr and Gregovitch, you would like portraits that will do your mothers proud. Nicely dressed, hair and teeth brushed, ready for the stuffy photos you might find at a Sears studio. This I will NOT do.”

For a moment they all looked stunned, and Starr bit her lip. Maria though, was cocking her head and smiling at them. She reached down and picked up something, tossing to towards them. Greg reached up and snagged it; the floppy shape of a rubber chicken hung from his hands, and Maria clapped gently.

“Spontaneity. It is the best present you can give.”

*** *** ***

Nick sat on the stool under the lights, feeling warm but too keyed up to worry about it. Beyond the edge of the light stood the odd photographer and with her, Greg and Starr. 

The woman—Maria—spoke. “What coffee did they serve on the Titanic, Nick-Nick?”

“What?” he looked confused, staring towards the three of them. 

Maria laughed and replied. “Sanka, of course! How many mice does it take to screw in a light bulb?”

“Er," Nick was beginning to grin. Maria spoke up once more.

“Two, but it’s very cramped. Why is the sand wet at the beach?”

Nick grinned. “I don’t know—why IS the sand wet at the beach?”

Maria sighed. “The sea-weed.”

That made Nick laugh, and in that moment, she began snapping photos of him. Quickly she called out, “What did the zero say to the eight? Nice belt!”

Nick kept chuckling, clearly amused and looking adorable. Maria didn’t let up. “Why can’t you play cards on the savannahs of Africa, Nick-Nick?”

“Because . . .” he fumbled a little, teeth flashing whitely, “It’s full ah cheetahs?”

“Right!”

Next to Starr, Greg was grinning, looking at Nick on the stool. “Oh man, look at him—he looks great!”

“Yep, he sure does,” Starr admitted, knowing that the photos would pick up on it. She turned to Greg and slipped a hand in his. “I think Maria knows what she’s doing.”

Greg nodded. “If mine turn out half as good as Nick’s, then my mom’s going to be in heaven.”

“Mine too,” Starr laughed.

When it was Greg’s turn, Maria chose sound effects, playing them from a cassette on the other side of the camera. Greg tried not to smile, fighting it through the squeaky balloon, the slide whistle and the creaky shoes, but when the long and mellow notes of a terrific bout of flatulence echoed in the loft, he lost it, laughing, teeth flashing as he did so.

Starr gave a happy sigh. Next to her, Nick grinned, his eyes locked on Greg. “We gotta file this away for later, Cupcake—farts crack Greggo up. Somehow we can use that, right?”

“Don’t look at me, Mr. Baked Beans!” she told him indignantly. Nick shook his head, still watching Greg laugh, his gaze intent. Starr leaned closer to Nick and spoke into his ear. “He IS gorgeous, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Nick agreed. “Not that I ever thought I’d say that about a guy, but he is. Something about Greg is pretty much hot all the time.”

And it was true, Nick admitted to himself. Greg had proved to be as generous, as sweet and loving as Starr was. In bed he was fun, and even in the simple freedom to be affectionate in private made Nick marvel at his good luck.

Greg wasn’t butch or femme; he was simply Greg: quirky, fun, sexy. Nick had begun to realize that, and revel in the pleasure he could both give and receive. Kissing him was different than kissing Starr; Greg was just as likely to take over the moment and turn it into a quickie.

Which, Nick acknowledged to himself, was waaaaay more than okay with him. With Greg he could be rougher and cruder to a certain degree, and Nick loved that too.

But he wasn’t gay. Or bisexual, really. Looking at other guys still didn’t do anything for him, and looking at other women could stir his body, but not his heart. Nick decided it was all a matter of _who_ he was in love with over gender; simple as that. He loved Starr and he loved Greg. They rocked his world and he felt loved and safe and happy with them.

Maria broke into his thoughts gently, speaking to Starr. “All right—two down, and the princess to do. Come, I have JUST the thing to make you smile.”

And she did, too.

Starr sat on the stool, trying very hard not to laugh. She was balanced on it, looking at Maria and ignoring the two men sitting at the base of the stool, both of them playing with her bare toes.

“Thissssss little piggie went to Starbucks,” Greg murmured, carefully gripping the big toe of her left foot.

“Starbucks?” Nick questioned.

“Dude, you have your version, I have mine,” came the reply.

“Yeah, well on _my_ foot, this little piggie went to the monster truck rally.”

Above them Starr giggled, and tried pulling her feet away, but neither man gave up. Maria was calmly taking pictures out beyond the circle of light.

“And this little piggie lounged in bed with a box of truffles," Greg continued, shifting to the next toe.

“This little piggie slept in after an all night marathon of Terminator movies,” Nick countered, doing the same.

“Guys, how can I have such radically different feet?” Starr complained. “They have to work _together_ you know!”

“Culture foot, macho foot,” Greg replied, continuing. “This little piggie had coq au vin with wild rice, wilted baby spinach and a nice vintage red.”

“And this little piggie had all-day brisket with cornbread muffins, cole slaw and cheesecake!” Nick growled.

“I think the two of you are hungry, perhaps?” Maria called politely from behind her camera. Both Nick and Greg laughed at that, and Greg lightly nibbled on a toe.

Starr squeaked, her dimples deepening, and Maria took the last shot at precisely that moment.

*** *** ***

They left the loft after thanking Maria and making arrangements to see the proofs later in the week. The morning had turned muggy and overcast; by the time they reached home all three of them were feeling tired and heavy. After putting away their good clothes and puttering through the little mundane chores, the three of them slipped into bed, settling down quietly into a comfortable cluster under the sheets.

Starr sighed. “Pictures are going to be SO good.”

Next to her, Greg yawned gently. “Yep. Christmas is in the bag for this year.”

“Gotta admit it was a great idea, Cupcake. My mom’s gonna be thrilled. Hey—we’re staying here for the holidays, right?”

Greg propped himself up to look over Starr at Nick. “Geez, this will be our first Christmas together!”

“Ooooohhh,” Starr wriggled a little, “Yeah! Except . . . except my mamma’s expecting me in Texas.”

“No!" Nick moaned sorrowfully. “You can’t.”

Starr bit her lip. “I guess I could call . . . . change plans, maybe. What if we had her come visit us for Thanksgiving? That way I’d get to see her, and then we could do Christmas here without me feeling guilty and all?”

“Thanksgiving, oh yeahhhh— _that_ might be tricky too,” Greg sighed. “My mom will be expecting me for that one.”

Nick sat up, bracing his back against the headboard, and turned to the other two. He pursed his mouth, thinking hard. “Well, if it’s just you and your folks, Greggo, why not have Thanksgiving here? Then we could have Starr’s mama too, and celebrate it right. That would be six people to serve. Think that would work?”

Greg and Starr thought about it a moment, both of them nodding cautiously and looking back at Nick. 

“I’m pretty sure I could talk my mama into a visit,” Starr offered. “She’s been dying to see some of the renovations we’ve been doing, and getting out of Texas would do her some good too.”

“And I’m sure my folks would be fine with Thanksgiving here, since it’s not usually a big production. Heck, if we play our cards right, I bet I can even talk _my_ mom into cooking the turkey. She’s an absolute whiz at it,” Greg warmed to the idea. “And as long as football’s on, my dad’s good anywhere.”

“Sounds like we have a plan,” Nick smiled. “Just as long as we keep the upstairs situation private, I think we could make it work. We’ll put your mom in the downstairs guestroom, right Starr?”

She nodded. “Oh sure, that would work just fine. And she loves dogs, so she and Bagel should get along.”

“Bagel gets along with everyone in the known universe but Mr. Fluffykins,” Greg muttered. “Stupid cat.”

“Now, now—the point is, we can do Thanksgiving so that we’ll have Christmas just for us,” Nick reminded him. “As long as Fluffykins stays off the back yard fence we’ll be good.”

Starr yawned. “Okay then. We’ll make some calls later today and see if we can’t get things set up then, since we’ve only got a month or so to get it done.”

“Speaking of getting done," Greg purred, cuddling up around her, “I’m assuming you’re putting a rain check on your earlier offer?”

“Oh Lovebunny, I’m sorry, but yeah, maybe after a night’s sleep,” Starr murmured regretfully. “You’re not mad, are you?”

“Secret love plans without me?” Nick teased, slipping back down under the covers and rolling towards Starr. 

She laughed softly. “I was in the mood for a booty call, and Greg was willing to do the honors.”

“Booty as in . . . booty?” Nick asked, voice a little strangled.

Starr nodded, her smile lazy. “Yep. Plan B has always been a favorite of mine, but I wasn’t sure if it was on anyone else’s playlist.”

“Dibs!” Greg called out, kissing her shoulder and making her laugh. When she looked over at Nick though, he was wide-eyed and slightly stunned. 

“Nick?”

“Sorry, I just—it’s . . . I’ve never done that,” he confessed in a low voice. “Seen it in a few, uh, movies.”

“Seriously?” Greg asked, his voice gentle.

Nick nodded, his face red. “Yeah. Not all of us have had you know . . . opportunities.”

Starr reached over, her hands cupping his face. She leaned in and kissed Nick warmly before pulling back and smiling at him.

“Wanna watch the live action version?”

Nick drew in a sharp breath and it came out as a low moan. His glance shifted from Starr to Greg, and he nodded. “Hell _yeah._ ”

“Good,” Starr told him, as she ducked under the covers, her voice slightly muffled. “Because the first part is taking the edge off."

 

Greg laughed at Nick’s suddenly blissful expression. “Dude, if Maria had a camera on you _now!"_

He didn’t get to finish as Nick yanked him over for a kiss. 

End 

**Author's Note:**

> So this is it; this story has been a fun one to write and I've tried hard to create a loving, respectful and supportive relationship with this one. I hope you've enjoyed it and look forward to any thoughts you readers have on it. Thanks!


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